


Emrys & Pendragon (Deceased)

by fifty_fifty, LFB72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anal Sex, Angst, Beltane, Blood and Injury, Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Bottom Merlin, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Crimes & Criminals, Death Threats, Denial of Feelings, Estrangement, F/M, Feelings Realization, First Time, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Ghost Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Ghost Sex, Head Injury, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jealous Arthur Pendragon, Jealousy, Life-Affirming Sex, M/M, Magic Revealed, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Modern Era, Murder Mystery, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Private Investigators, Regeneration, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex Magic, Soul Bond, Switching, Temporary Character Death, Top Arthur, Top Merlin, Unrequited Love, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 13:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 123,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16264715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fifty_fifty/pseuds/fifty_fifty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72
Summary: When running a private detective agency, you expect a little bit of excitement and drama. But you certainly don’t expect death. After Arthur is killed in a strange accident one night, Merlin can’t help but think that there's more to it than meets the eye.  Now he's stuck with a ghost for a partner, and time is running out for Arthur to resolve his unfinished business before he ends up trapped here for good. It's up to Merlin to help him figure things out so that he can cross over, but that's easier said than done when there's a murderer on your tail.One thing's for sure: as best friends for life, Merlin and Arthur won’t let a little thing like death come between them.





	1. Til Death Us Do Part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/gifts).



> A HUGE, HUGE thank you to my artist, [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72), I am so flattered she asked to collaborate with me on this fic. She has done amazing art for this story from chapter headers, scene dividers, art and moving GIFs that really help to bring this story to life. I am honoured and so spoiled by all that she's done. Please do head over to her art thread [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234922) as well to give her the praise that she truly deserves!
> 
> Thank you also to [schweet_heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart/) who is the best, most hardworking and patient beta I could ever ask for. I tell her all the time, but I could never manage to write as I do without her help. Without her (and many other supportive and encouraging friends-you know who you are), this story would never have been completed.
> 
> And thank you to the mods who work so hard to keep this big bang alive. Here is to many more to come! And finally, thank you for opening this fic and considering reading it. <3

With a few more jiggles of his skeleton key, the door makes an audible _click_ as the latch turns beneath his fingers. The building is dark and quiet. Every sound that he makes seemed amplified in the deathly silence that pervades the place. As he pushes open the door, its hinges screech in protest. Inside the office, a street lamp casts a beam of light across the room, illuminating a path to the wooden desk that sits in the middle of the room. He creeps inside, cringing inwardly as the floorboards creak beneath his weight. He sneaks across the room, stopping to examine the desk in front of him. He runs a gloved hand over the wood contemplatively before punching the power button on the computer that sits on top, and as the computer bleeps and the lights begin to flash, he crosses to the window and closes the blinds so that no light will escape to give him away.

Returning to the desk, his face is bathed in the harsh glow of the computer screen, and he pulls out a flash drive from his pocket. He sets it down beside the monitor as he sits down in the plush leather office chair. Steepling his fingers, he presses his index fingers to his lips as he waits for the computer to load, cursing it for being so old and slow. At least that will make the rest of this an easy job. Casting an eye towards the open door and keeping his ears open for any unexplained noises, he slides the flash drive into a USB port and waits for the programme to initiate. A blue screen pops open, and he types in a few commands, letting out a happy exclamation when he bypasses the computer’s security measures and is able to access the hard drive. After instructing the programme to clone an imprint of the data, he reaches forward and pulls open a drawer, casually rifling through it. Pulling out some files, he sorts through them and flicks his eyes over the contents before setting each one aside. One of them makes him pause. Running a gloved finger down the page, he stops and taps at a sentence. He slides his hand inside his jacket and pulls out his mobile phone to snap a few pictures before closing the file and replacing it in the drawer.

The computer beeps at him, alerting him to the fact that the programme has finished. He pulls out the flash drive, pocketing it again before shutting down the computer and rising from the chair. He’s got what he came for. Time to leave. He crosses to the door and closes it behind him. He doesn’t bother to relock it. An unlocked door can easily be explained away as a slip of the mind, and he’s left no other sign of being there. The programme he used was untraceable.

He pulls up his collar as he exits the building, glancing left and right before he crosses the road and slips inside the car.

“Took you long enough!” Merlin complains. “And I thought you said you were going to get a scratch card, not to break into an office in the dead of night!”

“Just drive, Merlin.”

Merlin grumbles to himself as he starts the engine, and his eyes flick over to Arthur before he checks for any traffic around them. It’s late and the roads are dead, so it doesn’t take more than a few moments before he’s putting the car in gear and accelerating away from the curb.

As the car starts moving, Arthur shifts uncomfortably in the passenger seat. God, Merlin has a shitty car. Really. The most uncomfortable car in the world, he swears. It’s even worse than Gwen’s Smart Car, where he has to scrunch his knees up into his chest in order to fit in the front seat, and that’s after he’s crammed himself into it in the first place. So that’s saying something. He wishes he’d brought a cushion.

“So, are you going to tell me what all that was about?” Merlin asks, scanning the road carefully as they drive down the street.

“Just something I needed to check on,” Arthur replies casually.

Merlin raises his eyebrows, still looking at the road. “You know that I can read your emails, right? That I am actually the one who reviews all the requests we get and schedules all our appointments?”

Arthur grunts and fiddles with the heating controls. It’s way too warm in the car for his liking; Merlin has probably had it turned up on high whilst he waited. So much for being inconspicuous when they’re on a stakeout. He’s told Merlin over and over again that he needs to kill the engine to avoid attracting attention, but Merlin never takes him seriously on these things. He shakes his head as Merlin goes on.

“Besides, you’re not the master hacker you think you are. Remember who programmed the cloning tool for your flash drive.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them as they continue driving. They haven’t discussed where they’re going, but given the late hour, Arthur knows that Merlin will be taking him home, to the flat that he and Gwen share. It’s a pokey little place above a bakery, but it’s all he and Gwen have been able to afford together, what with the business not really having taken off yet and Gwen’s modest teacher’s salary. It’s not much, but it’s satisfactory. And comfortable. Arthur likes comfortable, since it’s everything he didn’t have growing up under a father like Uther. It was always expectation after expectation, and no real care for his well-being other than his health with his father. Hunith, Merlin’s mother, had been the opposite. She was so soft and gentle, never afraid to hug Arthur or to praise him when it was due, but he’d always ended up going home to Uther in the end. 

Growing up, he’d never really thought about how differently his life might turn out compared to the way his father had envisioned it. He could certainly say he’d never dreamed that this would end up being his career. In fact, becoming a private investigator with his best friend was probably the last thing on Arthur’s list of possible career options. But when they had started up _Emrys and Pendragon_ (he and Merlin had had an extensive competition over the order of their names for the business; Arthur still can’t understand how he’d ended up losing), he had thought that the job would be more interesting—that they would be doing things like solving murders or deciphering strange mysteries like in _Jonathan Creek_ , or at the very least tracking down missing heiresses and secret royalty. Unfortunately, in real life it wasn’t so exciting.

“So, what do you think Jonas Wentworth is up to?” Merlin finally pipes up. Arthur had been expecting him to, really, but he glares at him nonetheless. Merlin seems to feel the heat of Arthur’s stare, since he looks over briefly before returning his gaze to the road. Merlin has always been a careful driver. 

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Merlin,” Arthur replies.

Merlin snorts. “That’s fine. I can wait,” he says smugly. “You’ll tell me soon enough, I’m sure. In fact, I bet you’ll be ranting at me about it by morning.”

Goddamnit. Merlin is right. Sooner or later—probably sooner—Arthur will tell him. Of course he will. He tells Merlin everything, especially when it has to do with a case. Not that this counts, since technically he’s not even taking any money for the job. He’s doing it as a favour for Geoffrey, really. Geoffrey Monmouth is an old family friend, whom Arthur has known for as long as he can remember and probably even before that. A few days ago, Monmouth had contacted him and they’d had lunch together. Geoffrey had been concerned about the large amount of money he had invested with a company called Wentworth Investments. Lately, he had been receiving diminishing returns on what was supposed to be a very lucrative and reliable investment. So where was that promised money now going? That, coupled with a new friend advising him _not_ to invest with them, had alarmed him. Since Geoffrey had heard through Arthur’s father (and Arthur had bristled merely at the mention of him) that Arthur was a private investigator now, he had been wondering if Arthur might be able to have a quiet look into the firm to put his mind at ease. Arthur had readily agreed, remembering how the old man had always been stern but fair with him when Arthur had been his pupil. He had taught Arthur Latin and given him extra tutelage with some of the subjects he had struggled with at the private school his father had insisted he attend. He had always given Arthur praise when he had earned it and reprimanded him when he had given less than his best. All in all, Arthur was rather fond of him.

Arthur is jerked out of his thoughts as the car swerves suddenly and he lurches over to the driver’s side, bumping against Merlin’s shoulder. He’s about to give Merlin a piece of his mind when he notices the car tailing closely behind them. 

“Merlin…”

Merlin’s eyes flick up to the rear-view mirror and briefly over to Arthur in silent agreement. “I know,” he says. 

“How long?”

“For about four minutes now.”

Arthur curses under his breath. How had they been caught? No one had known anything about his little expedition tonight. He’d even taken pains to hide what he was doing from _Merlin_ of all people. Merlin, who knows everything there is to know about Arthur. Merlin, who appears so open, but is actually something of a mystery; Arthur’s never been too sure what Merlin gets up to in his spare time, when they’re not together.

“Turn left here, just to make sure they’re not just taking the same route?”

“Already changed our route several times, which you’d have noticed if you’d been paying attention.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” Merlin looks back in the rear-view mirror and then takes the left turn. Sure enough, the car follows them down the quiet rural street. “I hate to say it, Arthur, but it’s _not_ looking good. Just what the hell did you do in that office?”

Arthur frowns into the mirror at the car behind them. “Nothing much. Just copied some files. It was a favour for a friend.”

Merlin sighs. “Well, your _favour_ ,” he says, and Arthur knows if Merlin weren’t driving right now he’d be using air quotes and rolling his eyes, “might be about to get us both killed.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Merlin. We’re private investigators, not gang members. Just… hit the accelerator and let’s get out of here.”

Merlin puts his foot down and their car jerks forward, suddenly picking up speed. The car following them matches the move. “Shit.” Merlin speeds up further and they bounce around like potatoes in a sack, the suspension in Merlin’s car shot to hell. Their pursuer slams into the rear bumper, causing Arthur to jolt in his seat and reach out with his hand to steady himself against the dashboard. The car smashes into the rear of their vehicle again, harder this time. The metal bodywork of Merlin’s car creaks ominously.

“Merlin…”

“I know, I know,” he says, reaching for the gear stick and changing to a higher gear. They zip along the street, the mystery car in hot pursuit. “Fuck,” Merlin mumbles under his breath. Then he does the stupidest thing imaginable, to Arthur’s mind: he closes his fucking eyes. In the middle of a car chase!

“Merlin, what the fuck do you think you’re…!?”

With an audible backfire, the car behind them suddenly seems to shudder and slow down before coming to a halt. Merlin carries on speeding down the road, leaving the pursuer far behind them.

Both Arthur and Merlin let out shaky breaths. And to think Arthur had been lamenting how boring and uneventful it was to be a PI, just a few minutes earlier. Perhaps it wasn’t _quite_ as boring as he’d thought.

“We’ve definitely lost them,” comes Merlin’s voice through the darkness as he turns down a country lane. “I’ll get you home, then?”

“Sure,” agrees Arthur absentmindedly, already deep in thought.

Who on earth had been pursuing them like that? Was it really because of the data he’d cloned on the flash drive, or was it something to do with a previous case? He thinks back over their most recent cases. There was Mrs Simmonds, who had asked them to find out who had taken her dog. That had been a ridiculous case for a self-respecting PI, but Merlin, the soft-hearted idiot, could never say no when it came to fluffy little animals. At least she had paid them well for their time and the retrieval of Pumpernickel. Then there was Sophia O’Shea, who had been concerned that her husband had been cheating on her. They’d spied on him for several weeks, but there had been nothing to suggest that he had been doing anything untoward. He was a loving husband and a caring individual who had been spending time giving kids after-school tutoring. Sophia had not been happy with them when they’d reported back to her. She had shrieked and howled, convinced that they were covering for him. And if that was an indication of what their marriage was like, Arthur couldn’t blame the man for staying late to teach kids after hours. He wouldn’t want to come home to that either. It had even made him doubt his wedding plans with Gwen for a while. What if they ended up like that? Sophia had definitely struck him as the sort to want revenge for a failed job. But, on reflection, he doesn’t think that it could have been her in the car. It just wasn’t her style. 

“Hey, we’re here,” says Merlin, interrupting Arthur’s thoughts. While he had been thinking, Merlin had made his way back over to Arthur’s side of town, pulled over and killed the engine. Now they are parked outside the bakery where his and Gwen’s flat is situated, Merlin waiting for Arthur to get out.

“Oh, yeah.” Arthur reaches out and pats Merlin’s shoulder, his hand lingering for a few moments. “Thanks, Merlin. You’re a good friend.” Merlin grins over at him, his usual dopey smile clearly visible through the gloom of the night. “Do you think we ought to talk to the police about that car?”

Merlin made a dismissive noise. “As if they’d even bother to lift a finger. Especially for two PIs. No, I think we’d be better off figuring it out for ourselves.”

“Mmm, true,” agreed Arthur. “I guess I’ll just…” He gestures up to the flat where a light is on, and Gwen is no doubt waiting for him upstairs.

“Yeah, of course. G’night, Arthur.” Merlin’s hand grips the keys with those long, delicate fingers, his other hand resting on the gear stick. “And be careful,” he adds.

Arthur slowly opens the door and gets out, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah, you too,” he says, placing his hand on top of the car and leaning in to see Merlin. He lingers there, reluctant to close the door and let their conversation finish until he’s sure Merlin’s okay. He still feels shaken up himself, so he’s sure Merlin must be feeling worse.

“Are you okay?” he asks, hesitantly. Merlin nods and shrugs, as if to say it was no big deal. “See you in the morning then?”

“Yep, bright and early!” exclaims Merlin, with enough false cheer that Arthur knows he’s going to be fine. It’s their way of communicating.

“All right then.” He closes the car door, watching as Merlin starts the engine and gives him an encouraging wave from inside the vehicle. Arthur returns the wave and then heads for the door to the flat, feeling in his pocket for his keys. Yes. He should get inside. Gwen is waiting for him.

He glances back over his shoulder, keys in the door as Merlin drives away. He’ll look over the files tonight, to see what could possibly be so interesting as to get them almost run off the road, and then talk with Merlin about the case in the morning.

The mid-morning sunlight filters in through the tinted glass of the office window and slowly meanders across Merlin’s desk, only a stone’s throw from where Arthur is sitting. Merlin has perched himself half on the edge of his desk and half off it, listening as Arthur explains.

“Corporate embezzlement?” he asks with disbelief, folding his arms. “ _That’s_ what we almost got run off the road for last night?”

Arthur hums and turns his laptop around so that Merlin can see the screen. “Large sums of money are being deposited to the company accounts at regular intervals and then transferred over to this new account for Blackwater Holdings.” He points to show Merlin exactly where.

Merlin hisses a breath in through his teeth. “That’s a hefty amount. Who is transferring it and how on earth did they think they’d get away with it?” 

Arthur rubs his jaw. “There are a lot of large investments coming into the books. If the accountant is crooked and there’s little to no accountability for them as a company, it could be easily overlooked. The depositing accounts have no names, just numbers.”

Merlin frowns. “So how are we supposed to figure who they are?” 

“We can’t. The account holders’ details are confidential.”

“Okay. Let’s start with the company they’re transferring money to, then. What do we know about Blackwater Holdings?” 

“Not much. Registered three years ago. Based in Switzerland, with an office here in the UK under the name of Blackwater Industries.”

“And what do they do?”

“They offer investment advice, from what I can tell,” says Arthur, glancing up from his laptop.

“But there’s no information about who owns it and what they do?” asks Merlin, leaning over to look at Arthur’s screen.

Arthur snorts. “Just gives the name of another company. They have a website, but I don’t believe a word of it. The office is supposedly on an industrial estate in Chiswick.”

Merlin drums his fingers on the desk. “We could try visiting? Posing as investors?”

Arthur lets his eyes travel up and down Merlin, taking in his scruffy blue t-shirt; the old, ratty brown jacket that he’s had for years now; and the red scarf that’s hanging around his neck like he’s some kind of hipster. To say nothing of his frayed jeans and scuffed-up trainers. “I don’t think you’d pass muster, Merlin. Investors have to actually look like they have money.”

Merlin glares over at Arthur, rising to his full height ready to retaliate. “Hey, just because I don’t dress like a complete and utter twat when we’re supposed to be blending in…” he begins.

The bell above the door tinkles merrily as Gwen breezes on in.

“Now, now boys! No fighting,” she scolds as she deposits a carrier bag on Merlin’s desk. Arthur sniffs the air appreciatively. “Yes, I got your favourite. Mexican chicken with jalapenos and hot sauce.”

She goes over to Arthur’s desk to give him his sandwich, and he reels her in to kiss her. “I don’t know what I did to deserve such an angel,” he says with a grin, before he loosens his grip on her and digs in.

Gwen rolls her eyes and glances over at Merlin, who has already got his head in the bag, searching for his own lunch. He makes a triumphant noise when he finds it and pulls it out. “Thanks Gwen, you’re a star!”

“You’re welcome, Merlin. So, you said you’d been working on a plan for the big day?” she says, as she sits down in his office chair with her own food in hand.

Merlin smiles and goes over to the whiteboard. “Oh yes, absolutely. I have it written down somewhere…” Merlin feels his pockets and pulls out a piece of paper victoriously. “So, here’s the schedule.” He points to the list on the whiteboard. “And I have a list of all the things that—” He coughs and winks at Gwen. “Arthur—”

“Oi!” Arthur interjects.

“—needs to do in the next two weeks. In date order of course.”

“Of course,” agrees Arthur, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

“So we’ll start off at 8 in the morning, then lovely Gwen will go off to the hairdressers to get her hair and makeup done, and I will take Arthur off for breakfast, so he’s not grumpy. Gwen will be in Sefa’s capable hands for the rest of the day—I’ve worked on a schedule with her, too—and she will make sure that Gwen gets to the church on time, and then Arthur will...”

Arthur doesn’t hear the rest. He’s already zoned out, like he always does when talk turns to his and Gwen’s wedding. He’s just a participant anyway; as long as Gwen and Merlin are in agreement, he could really care less about what happens on the day. The end result will be the same, regardless.

“...and so I’m sure you’ll agree that’s a fitting plan. Right, Arthur?” finishes Merlin, looking at him expectantly.

Arthur’s lips curve into a smile. “Of course, Merlin,” he repeats. “But what I want to know is, will you be giving us a diagram for what to do in the bedroom _after_ the wedding?

Merlin blushes as red as a tomato and he stutters, “Wha—what? Of course not!”

Gwen giggles at them. “Oh Arthur, you're so mean! Carry on, Merlin,” she encourages.

“Thank you, Gwen. Okay, so, like I was asking _before_ Arthur interjected. Do we all agree with the plan?”

“Oh, actually Merlin could I clarify one thing?” says Gwen, raising her hand. Arthur sits up straighter in his chair, a grin on his face. He knows the mischievous look in Gwen’s eyes all too well. “When we get to the hotel room... Should I go straight for the trousers, or kiss him first?”

Merlin chucks down his piece of paper and throws his hands up in the air. “Oh, forget it, if you're not going to take this seriously!” he exclaims.

Arthur straightens his face before he replies calmly, ” _I_ think she should go for the trousers first.”

Making an exasperated sound, Merlin snatches up his sandwich and storms out of the office, muttering under his breath. “Honestly, I don’t know why I bother.”

As Arthur pulls up, parking on the green outside the impressive manor house that towers over them, the nerves that Merlin has felt building slowly over the course of the afternoon reach a crescendo. He pauses with his hand on the door handle as the others get out of the car and has to remind himself to breathe. One deep breath—exhale—then another, as he tries to quell the anxiety inside of him. This is just another case. No different than any of the other suspected infidelity cases they’ve taken on. Just because Cenred King is rich and mildly famous doesn’t mean Merlin needs to get nervous. It’s a welcome break from the corporate embezzlement case they’ve been working on for Arthur’s friend, which has so far lead to dead end after dead end as they try and establish just who does own Wentworth Industries and where all that money is coming from. By contrast, tracking down cheating spouses has become a standard case for them, their bread and butter. Boring, usually, but it’s normally fairly straightforward, and it pays the bills. But for some reason, Merlin can’t seem to shake the feeling of foreboding he’s been having today. He doesn’t want to read too much into it, and he certainly can’t mention it to Arthur—not after what happened with his sister—but he can’t help feeling anxious.

He jumps as he hears a tap on the window.

“Come on, Merlin, we don’t have all night!” comes Arthur’s voice as he peers down at Merlin.

Merlin takes one more deep, cleansing breath and steels himself. “Coming.”

Arthur is already ahead of him and Gwen, who has been waiting until Merlin exited the car, and Merlin hears the car doors make a clicking noise as Arthur holds the key fob up over his shoulder. Watching him making his way across the street, Merlin spots a car speeding its way up the driveway. It’s going a bit too fast for such a winding lane, and it doesn’t seem to be slowing any. 

What happens next seems to happen in slow motion. 

The car comes screeching around the corner and, rather than slowing down, it appears to speed up, heading straight for Arthur. Instinctively, Merlin reaches out his hand and starts to slow time; the car inches along as though it’s pushing its way through thick treacle, and things are actually in slow motion for real this time. Taking advantage of the moment, Merlin launches himself at Arthur. They tumble over and over until they reach the side of the lane, wrapped in each others arms. Time speeds up around them again, and Merlin finds himself trembling with fear as the car whips past them, ever so narrowly missing them both.

“Oh my God!” screams Gwen as she rushes over to them. She takes Arthur’s dazed face in her hands and examines him anxiously, her cheeks pale. “Arthur? Are you okay?”

“Mmm,” he says, brushing the dirt off his jacket. “I’m fine.”

“Merlin,” says Gwen, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “Thank you. You saved his life.”

Merlin shrugs and struggles to his feet, frowning as he tries to rub the dirt from his knees. This is a rented tux; he can’t afford to damage it.

“Gwen, we’re both fine. Aren’t we, Merlin?” Arthur looks over at him with a meaningful expression that says, _‘for the love of god, don’t worry her’_.

Merlin plasters a bright, fake grin on his face, one that he’s become accustomed to using ever since Arthur and Gwen had started to get serious. “Yes, we’re absolutely fine, Gwen. I’m sure it was just an accident. The driver probably didn’t see him.” Merlin reaches out his hands and helps them both up. “Now, shall we?” 

Once they’re all satisfied that the dirt has been brushed off, they head inside, Merlin glancing over his shoulder at where the car has disappeared from view. Maybe it was no coincidence that the car had almost hit them, especially after what had happened last night. But he does his best to push the thought from his mind. He can dwell on their near misses later. Right now, they have work to do.

Music plays quietly in the background, muted by the sound of polite chatter as people mill around them and make small talk. Merlin shifts awkwardly and pulls at his bowtie. His heart has finally recovered from the shock of the accident-he’s-not-sure-was-quite-an-accident, and it has done wonders for his anxiety, but he still hates wearing a tux. He tugs at the waistcoat, pulling it down where it had ridden up during the tumble with Arthur. He still can’t understand why Arthur had insisted that they wear them. As he scans the crowd, he can’t see too many other men wearing tuxes, and they are all so suave and debonair and sophisticated. Merlin is sure he’s sticking out like a sore thumb at this very moment because those are all the things he’s not.

He feels like a child dressed in their parents’ clothing. The trousers alone make his legs seem ridiculously long, stretching on forever, to say nothing of the cumberband and waistcoat. Wearing such a refined outfit reminds him of when he was a child, watching his mother get dressed in all her nicest clothes and jewelry for a night out on the town. She had caught him doing the same once or twice, much to Merlin’s extreme embarrassment. He’d been curious, and so he’d tried a few of her things on. But everyone does that, don’t they? Just as an experiment. He’d always been a overly-interested child.

Merlin glances over at Arthur and Gwen. Unlike him, they both fit in perfectly. Arthur looks heartbreakingly beautiful in his tux. Like he was made to wear one. It fits him like a glove, hugging him in all the right places (like his nice, round arse) and framing his sculpted chest and shoulders. Not that Merlin has been looking, or anything. Gwen, beside him, looks elegant and classy in her long, lilac-coloured cocktail dress. They make a lovely couple, even if it breaks Merlin’s heart further to admit it. But he had sworn long ago that he would push those thoughts away and banish them from his mind. He had made a vow to himself that if Arthur was happy—and in this case, if Gwen was happy—then he would be happy too. And they’re his friends; he wants good things for them. He wants them to be content, no matter what that means for himself. It’s probably why he’s thrown himself into the wedding planning, as a way of forcing himself to accept that it is actually happening, and that he needs to move on. But that is easier said than done.

Merlin scans the crowd again to see if he can spot either Cenred or Morgause. Both are fairly distinctive looking, so they shouldn’t be hard to find. Cenred had shot to fame as a rock musician in the early 1990s, but still has a small and loyal fanbase, boosted by a few smaller successes in more recent years, and Morgause runs her own fashion line and is quite desirable herself these days. Merlin wonders if that’s part of the reason why Cenred suspects her of cheating on him. It’s not uncommon for a husband to be jealous of their spouse’s newfound success, or for that to be reflected in suspicions about their behaviour.

As a waiter passes by them, they all swipe a glass of champagne.

“Morgause at ten o’clock,” Merlin murmurs to Arthur before he takes a sip.

Arthur gives him a small nod. “Yes, I see her. I wonder who the man is.”

With a grin, Merlin leans close, as though they’re having a interesting conversation. “No clue. Why don’t you and Gwen see if you can talk to them? Couple-to-couple.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, no bueno. If we’re trying to catch her out, a single, eligible man would be have much more success. You’ll have to do it. She’d go for you, I think. With all your…” He frowns at Merlin as he looks him up and down, his eyes resting on his lips for a beat too long. “...gangliness and… and… youthfulness.”

“Me!” exclaims Merlin in a loud whisper. “But I’m _gay_.”

Arthur smirks at him. “But she won’t know that. You give her a shot and then, if she doesn’t go for you, maybe I’ll give it a go. She might like an adulterous—” Arthur lets out an ‘oof’ as Gwen elbows him sharpy.

“I _am_ listening to you blather on you know,” she says. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d acknowledge that I’m actually in attendance as well.”

“Sorry, Gwen,” they both mutter sheepishly, their eyes cast at the ground.

She clears her throat, and Merlin looks up at her, Arthur following suit.

“Better,” she says smiling at them. “Now, Merlin you’d better get started, hadn’t you? Like you said, if you fail, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll let Arthur have a shot at it.”

They both shoo Merlin away, much to his dismay, and he’s left with no choice but to try and chat up Morgause the possible cougar. He sighs to himself and switches out his champagne for a fresh glass when a server passes by, knocking it back in one go. Boy, is he going to need it!

After half an hour, however, Merlin is barely any closer to getting to speak to Morgause than he was when he started. He’d figured that the best idea would be to mingle a little bit and make polite conversation here and there before he went in for the kill, so to speak. But that had been a grievous mistake. He had been drawn into conversation by a lovely, sweet girl called Kara and her friends, who had all decided to question him as though he were at an interview. As they went on, the questions became more and more personal, and he’d had to make up more and more lies to answer them. When he’d finally pulled himself away, he shivered and was thankful that he would never have to deal with a girlfriend, or her collection of friends, in his personal life. Girls were fine individually, but in packs, they were vicious.

He avoids young women from then on, having cordial words with some of the older couples instead, and he has actually started to enjoy making up a fake identity and back story for himself when he at last penetrates Morgause’s inner circle. He can see why people pay attention to her. There is something so unnerving about her when she looks at you, almost as though she can see right through any pretense with her piercing gaze. Merlin feels exposed the second that she lays eyes on him, but it’s important that he maintain his cover, so he starts talking to her companion instead. The man, who introduces himself as Gwaine Greene, claims to be the lead singer of a band that Merlin has never heard of and a friend of Cenred’s. No wonder Cenred is pissed off. Gwaine is roguishly handsome, very genuine, and a complete and utter flirt. It’s easy to see why Cenred might think that he could be a piece on the side for Morgause. Merlin only feels the slightest twinge of guilt when he proceeds to tell Gwaine his favourite version of his fake self that he has concocted over the evening.

Gwaine gradually draws Merlin away from the group and leads him over to the bar for a fresh drink.

“So, _Rodrigo_ ,” says Gwaine with a knowing wink. “Refresh my memory, what is it you do again?”

Merlin cringes as Gwaine emphasises his fake name. He had panicked, okay? There he was being chatted up by the hottest guy who’d paid him any attention in a long time, and he had completely freaked out and picked a name at random. Why he hadn’t gone for something plain and boring like… George, his brain supplies—Oh, _thanks_. _Now_ he can think of a decent, normal name—he doesn’t know. But when Gwaine started flirting it had all gone to pot, and Merlin had told him that his name was Rodrigo, of all things. He doesn’t look even remotely like his name could be Rodrigo. Not that telling people his name is actually Merlin generally ends up going much better.

As he glances up at Gwaine, Merlin knows that he’s been rumbled from the twinkle in the other man’s eye. He’s got a choice here; he can either confess to his lie and come clean with Gwaine, or he can continue with it, with them both knowing it’s a complete and utter bullshit, and tell him the most outlandish things he can possibly think of.

He leans towards Gwaine and licks his lips, lowering his voice as he whispers, “Well, officially, I am a zoo veterinarian, but you rumbled me. I actually work for Her Majesty's Secret Service.”

Gwaine bites back a grin. “Maybe I should have ordered your drink shaken, not stirred, Mr Bond.”

Merlin smiles into his glass. “Nothing gets by you, Gwaine, does it?”

Taking Merlin’s drink, Gwaine deposits it on the bar before taking him by the hand. “What do you say we go somewhere a little bit quieter, Mr Bond?”

Merlin nods at him and Gwaine whisks him off out of the main room and down a deserted corridor. Once they’re safely concealed around the corner, Gwaine crowds him against the wall.

“So, _Rodrigo_ , I’d like to kiss you, if that’s all right with you? I’ve been looking at those sinfully plush lips of yours since the moment I first saw you, wondering if they’d feel and taste as good as they look.” 

Merlin’s breath catches in his throat. He still can’t quite believe that Gwaine is actually interested in him. Gwaine is a rockstar in the making and looks like a model; how can he possibly want Merlin? The thought crosses his mind that maybe this is a little bit too good to be true. Maybe he ought to be cautious. Gwaine already knows that he’s not who he says he is, so who’s to say that he’s not faking it too? He’s never heard of Gwaine’s band, after all. But then, he could also argue that there are lots of other bands he’s never heard of before, so that in itself doesn’t mean Gwaine is lying. He’s seemed pretty genuine so far. Merlin wishes he could check his phone and do a quick Google search just to confirm. But he can’t, and he can’t help thinking he might never get the opportunity to make out with a rockstar again, so he might as well seize the moment. 

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Merlin replies, bringing their lips tantalisingly close. He can feel Gwaine’s breath ghosting over his mouth as he exhales. Gwaine waits a few moments before he brushes his lips against Merlin’s, and then Merlin makes the final move, pressing his lips against Gwaine’s softly and tentatively.

Gwaine takes the initiative then, his lips caressing Merlin’s with an ease that says he’s done this many times before, and it’s good. It’s really good. It’s been ages since Merlin has pulled anyone. But it’s just… not setting him on fire. Not emotionally. Physically? Merlin shifts a little to adjust himself. Yeah, it’s having the desired effect all right. At the back of his mind, he knows that the spark just isn’t there between them. But that’s okay for a bit of fun, isn’t it? Surely Merlin deserves to have a bit of fun now and again. Especially when Arthur is like a walking cock-tease. So perfect and so blond and so unavailable. God, he’s even letting Arthur cock-block his love life. No. No more, Arthur made his choice and he chose Gwen. Merlin pushes all thoughts of his partner from his mind and decides that he’s going to enjoy whatever this thing is between him and Gwaine.

With a smile, he slides his hands into Gwaine’s long, unsurprisingly-silky hair, pulling him closer as he opens his mouth and deepens their kiss.

Arthur looks around the room anxiously, hoping to pick out Merlin’s dark head in amongst the crowd. Merlin is not normally difficult to find: his height makes him stand out a bit, so usually he’s easy to spot. But Arthur can’t see him, even though Morgause is still chatting to the party guests, and he feels a stab of annoyance. Where is Merlin? He hasn’t seen him for well over an hour now. Did he even attempt to chat Morgause up? It’s not very difficult to chat up a girl. You just tell her that her hair looks nice, or you like her dress or something, and you’re already halfway there in Arthur’s experience.

His attention is drawn back to Gwen when she slides her arms around his waist and draws him close, looking up at him with uncertain eyes. “You know, going around with you two certainly gives a person a pretty distorted view of marital bliss; divorce, cheating, mutual distrust…” She pauses and chews her lip, frowning as she looks up at him. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing, Arthur?”

Arthur grins down at her and bends to touch his forehead to hers. “All I know is, I have a picture of an old, wrinkly, white-haired couple with a cottage in the country, sitting in the setting sun, having spent the whole of their lives together. Knowing they can face _anything_ together.”

Gwen smiles back at him and asks knowingly, “And just _who_ might this couple be?”

“I’ve no idea.” Arthur laughs.

Out the corner of his eye, he suddenly spots Merlin. He lips are a cherry red, his hair a complete mess, and his shirt is half hanging out. Has he been—Oh dear god, he _has_. Arthur feels a stab of something that cuts deep in his gut, along with a burning anger at Merlin who _has been scoring when they’re supposed to be working_.

“Oh, Merlin!” says Gwen, drawing him over to them. “How did it go?”

Merlin grins dopily. “Oh, well. Um, I don’t think that she’s cheating on Cenred with Gwaine,” he says, at least having the decency to blush as he tucks in his shirt.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Honestly, so useless.” He shakes his head and reaches up to straighten his tie and jacket. “If you need a job done, do it yourself. Excuse me, Gwen,” he says, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“Arthur,” she says, warningly. “You’re not honestly about to go and chat this woman up are you?”

Arthur frowns, surprised by Gwen’s sudden change of tone. He thought they’d already agreed on this. Send Merlin in to do the job, and when he failed spectacularly, Arthur would swoop in and hit on Morgause, maybe even ask her out. If she responded to his advances, well… they would be well on the way to finding out if she was willing to cheat on Cenred, wouldn’t they? “What do you mean? I thought we agreed, Merlin would have a go and then me.”

“I said I would think about it. Arthur, we’re supposed to be getting _married_. You can’t just go gallivanting around chatting up other women anymore.”

He feels his frown deepen. He’s not sure what Gwen is going on about. It’s not as though this Morgause woman is anything close to his type, and Arthur is halfway convinced that she is old enough to be his mother. Not that he’d ever breathe a word of that in Morgause presence, of course. “I’m just not sure that I see the problem, snookums,” he says, taking her hand in his. He overhears Merlin snickering nearby. “It’s just a bit of harmless flirting to help us with a case. It’s not like it actually means anything. It’s work.” He’s pretty sure there’s at least some annoyance colouring his tone by the time he finishes speaking.

Gwen pulls her hand out of his, tears in her eyes. “Not to me, it isn’t. You know what?” she says, grabbing her purse from the table. “This is stupid. I’m going home.” She glares at Arthur. “I could strangle you sometimes!”

“Me, too,” Merlin pipes up from behind Arthur, making him sigh and glare at him in annoyance over Gwen’s shoulder.

Gwen turns to Merlin, looking at him exasperatedly, but also fondly. “Look after him for me, Merlin. Please make sure he gets home tonight, and for the love of God, don’t leave him to his own devices.” 

Arthur almost rolls his eyes again. Gwen has always had a soft spot for Merlin and his idiotic antics. She gives Merlin a much easier time than she ever gives him. “Oi!”

“As for you, Arthur, you can do what you like,” Gwen says as she turns on her heel and heads for the door, her phone already in hand. To summon an Uber, Arthur assumes.

“Gwen, don’t be like that,” he calls as she’s striding away from him. She stops and turns back, her jaw set.

“No, Arthur. You don’t seem to get it. We’re getting married next week! And here you are playing cops and flirting with women like you’re James Bond or something!”

Just to the side of him, Arthur catches sight of Merlin, who for some reason has flushed bright red the way he always does when he’s super embarrassed about something. 

“Oh, so that’s what this is all about, is it?” Arthur says, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “I _knew_ it. I _knew_ you didn’t approve of this job. You’ve just been waiting for us to fail, haven’t you? I knew you didn’t really mean it when you said we had your support. In fact, I even remember that you tried to talk me out of it, right near the beginning. Well, you know what, Gwen? We need the money. And despite what you think, Merlin and I,” he gestures vaguely in Merlin’s direction, “are actually quite good at this.”

“Oh, drop dead, Arthur!” she hisses, making a beeline for the front door, and Arthur just can’t find it in himself to stop her. 

The business is his and Merlin’s livelihood, for god’s sake, and Arthur had hoped it would soon become Gwen’s as well. After they had married and things had picked up a bit, he had intended to bring her on board and ask her to be their office manager. He’d actually mentioned it to Merlin once before, when they had had a busy period and Merlin had been struggling to manage all the phone calls and emails by himself. It had been Merlin’s job ever since Arthur had lost them a big case when he was rude to a lady over the phone (how was he supposed to know she was a rich duchess?). Merlin had been insistent that he could do it all himself and proceeded to work twice as hard to cover everything, but it would have been nice for all of them to have worked together. He’s feeling a bit soured on the idea now, given how much Gwen clearly disapproves. Well. He will certainly be taking the sofa tonight. He’s too hurt to want to make things up with Gwen now.

Merlin hovers awkwardly at his shoulder, and Arthur glowers, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t say _a word_ , Merlin.”

Merlin glances down at Arthur’s finger with unconcealed amusement, holding up his hands and looking far too innocent with those lips and that mussed-up hair. Arthur feels something stir in his gut again. 

“I wouldn’t!” exclaims Merlin.

“Good. Now, introduce me to Morgause’s group, and we can get this over and done with. Come on.”

Several minutes later, the two of them are well and truly integrated with Morgause’s group, and Arthur is regaling them all with funny anecdotes, some taken from his real life experiences and ill-spent youth with Merlin and others completely fabricated. Merlin watches on with fascination. It’s always amazed him the way that Arthur can capture the attention of a whole group of people—entire rooms even—at the drop of the hat. It’s like he’s a king holding court, cradling them all in the palm of his hand as they eagerly hang onto his every word. Merlin has no clue how he does it. It’s like Arthur has a magic that’s entirely his own, and so very different from Merlin’s.

He watches Arthur with adoring eyes, not bothering to hide his unfettered admiration. He knows that Arthur won’t notice him. He’s too busy charming people. Even Morgause has fallen under his spell, laughing at something Arthur has just said. Merlin’s not sure what he’s been talking about. He’s not listening. Instead, he’s watching Arthur’s every movement and cataloging each and every facial expression to store away for later. The way his lips part as he talks and how they curve into a smile, the way his throat bobs after he’s taken a pause, the creases around his eyes as he laughs and throws his head back. This is the Arthur that Merlin loves the most, and he loves Arthur in pretty much any form. 

Arthur meets his eyes and they share a look for a few moments before Arthur glances away and carries on telling his story. Merlin is okay with just being friends with Arthur, he really is, so long as he can have little moments like this where he can enjoy him openly. Even if it’s slowly killing him to be working so closely together when he knows that they can never be anything more than business partners.

Merlin startles when he feels a warm hand pressing on the small of his back, and soft lips brush his ear. “Ah, so _that’s_ who it is you’re pining over,” says an instantly recognisable Irish brogue.

Merlin scowls, not looking away from Arthur. “No, I’m not,” he replies. 

Gwaine pulls back a little, his hand still on Merlin’s back. “I don’t think he’s available, mate. Didn’t he just have a blazing row with his missus half an hour ago?”

“Ah, you saw that, did you?”

“Hard to miss,” Gwaine replies. “Especially when I can’t keep my eyes off of you.” Merlin glances over at him with a puzzled look, and Gwaine grins and leans close to him as he lowers his voice. “Look, I know what I’m getting into. You want him, but he’s not into you. I want you, but you’re not into me.” 

Merlin shakes his head. “It’s not exactly like that. I _do_ like you, but no, Arthur doesn’t think of me that way.”

“What would you do if he did return your feelings?” asks Gwaine as they both watch him.

Merlin sighs deeply and turns his gaze to the floor. “There’s no point thinking about it. It’s never going to happen. I’m better off just getting over him, I suppose.”

Stubble scratches against his cheek, and Gwaine’s breath is hot against his face. “How about we do something about that?” he suggests. “Why don’t we ditch this party and go back to mine, and I’ll help you to get over him? I could do with a shag, especially with someone as gorgeous as you, and you’ll have blue balls for a month if you keep staring at him for too much longer. I’ll make you forget all about him, I promise.”

The way Gwaine talks, all low and sultry and lilting, sends shivers down Merlin’s spine. But he can’t just abandon Arthur here, no matter how wonderful it would be to swan off with Gwaine and try to pretend that Arthur never existed. He and Arthur are partners, and partners stick together.

“Look, Gwaine, I want to. I really, really want to. Honestly.” Merlin turns and smiles at him. “I can’t tell you how much. But I can’t leave him. He’s my friend.”

“Ah, it’s okay, _Rodrigo_.” Gwaine winks. “I understand. I think it’s admirable. Just don’t hold your breath, eh? And if you’re ever around and fancy hooking up...Well, call me.” He presses a card into Merlin’s hand, and then he’s gone.

Arthur glances over at Merlin with a frown, listening with only half an ear to Morgause as she tells him all about the inspiration for her latest fashion line. He’s a bit horrified to be honest, having looked up the kind of clothes that Morgause designs. He really doesn’t want to understand what kind of twisted thinking is behind them. So he lets himself be distracted by watching Merlin, who is talking with one of the men who was flirting with Morgause earlier on. The bloke has overly long hair and looks like he could be some kind of model. He’s at the top of Arthur’s list of possible suspects; Morgause could easily be having an affair with him, if indeed she is having an affair at all. She’s certainly quick to flirt, but Arthur’s not entirely sure that she’d be that quick to jump into bed with someone.

As he watches, it becomes obvious that Merlin and this mystery man are standing way too close to be strangers. A cold shiver runs through Arthur and clutches at his heart when he realises that this is the reason Merlin has been looking so dishevelled tonight.

He grits his teeth. All right, so maybe the bloke isn’t having an affair with Morgause. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous, or that _Merlin_ should be spending so much time flirting with him. Arthur just wants to tear the two of them apart, forcing the man away from Merlin. But instead he makes himself to focus on his, admittedly rather one-sided, conversation with Morgause. _Finally_ he gets the opening that he’s been waiting for.

“You should come with me, Theodore,” she purrs, her hand on his arm. It’s a not pleasant feeling, but Arthur bears it, so long as it helps them dig deeper into their investigation.. “I can show you some of the latest designs in my room. Oh, and Theodore is awfully stiff and proper, don’t you think? I think I shall call you Theo. Or—no. No. I’ve a better name: Teddy. Come on, Teddy.”

Arthur splutters at the nickname. Why couldn’t he have stuck with a boring, average name, like David, or John? He and Merlin really needed to work on their cover stories and decide on some proper false identities for occasions like this. He glances over his shoulder, shrugging slightly when he notices Merlin is watching him. Between the two of them, they have a silent conversation, as Arthur wills Merlin to understand that he will come and find him once he’s collected more information about Morgause, and Merlin gives him a small smile and a nod before scanning the crowd and tipping his head in the direction of their client, Cenred. Merlin heads over to him, probably to keep him from following Arthur. In the meantime, Arthur is hauled off by Morgause to wherever this room of hers is.

Cenred hails Merlin as soon as he spots him. “Ah, Mr Emrys. Come.”

He slides his arm around Merlin’s neck and pulls him in close, like they’re good friends, and starts to walk away from the crowds of people. Merlin barely manages to suppress a shudder at his touch. If they weren’t always in such a precarious situation with the business, needing every penny they could get to keep it afloat, Merlin would have had serious second thoughts about taking Cenred on as a client. He’s so sleazy he makes Merlin’s skin crawl, even though he has been nothing but polite and courteous to them both. Personally, once they have a steady amount coming in, Merlin wants to start dropping the jealous/possessive spouse cases, until they can stop taking them on altogether. He and Arthur are capable of so much more than that. They’ve proven this many times before, like last year when they’d helped the police convict the man behind the Denaria murders, a seemingly impossible case. Merlin’s magic had had a lot to do with that, despite Arthur believing that _he_ was the one to discover where the murder weapon was hidden. He’d managed to get a moment alone with one of the deceased and had seized the opportunity to summon her ghost, something he’d done only a handful of times before. It had been this talent for unearthing unexpected information that had been what really kickstarted the whole idea of becoming private investigators. Neither of them had fancied the idea of becoming a police officer, as they wanted more freedom to choose what they did and when, so private investigating had worked out pretty well in the end. They made a good team, Arthur being the pragmatist with a good game plan and Merlin—well, magic tended to be his specialty. As long as he applied to subtly, it often aided them on a case. The spell he’d used to contact Isolde was always a risk, though, because there was a chance you could bring back the wrong person, or that you wouldn’t be able to get them to go back beyond the veil. Gaius had cautioned him strongly against such magic when he’d caught him reading one of his necromancy books. But Merlin had decided it was worth the risk to put away a serial killer for good. He had managed to bring Isolde’s soul back briefly, just long enough to ask her a couple of questions. She had given them some vital clues, and all they’d had to do was set a trap for the man who had killed her, which had lead to his capture and eventual conviction.

Cenred leads him down a hallway leading further into the house. It’s tastefully decorated, but Merlin is a little bit afraid to even breathe, lest he break or damage something priceless. They stop at a door with a keypad, and Cenred types in a code, beckoning Merlin to follow.

As Merlin hesitantly pokes his head inside, he lets out a gasp of surprise. It’s like a museum, full of glorious paintings and sculptures on plinths and in display cases, some back lit and artistically displayed by someone with an expert eye. Merlin forgets all about the need to be cautious and practically floats inside as his gaze latches onto one picture in particular. 

He stares at it and rubs his eyes with both hands, as if that will help him decide whether this is actually real or not. He’s close now, so close that he can see the brush strokes. “Is this _actually_ a—”

“Van Gogh?” finishes Cenred, as he walks over to Merlin and presses a glass into his hands. “Yes, I acquired it late last year from another private collector.”

Merlin gapes at it. He knows he must look like a complete idiot, but he still can’t believe it. An actual Van Gogh, right here in front of him. So close that he could almost breathe on it. It’s so vivid, and his fingers twitch with the effort to resist the temptation to touch it. It’s tough, but he manages it. He wouldn’t want to damage something as precious as this, after all. Still, how amazing would be to be able to say that you touched an actual Van Gogh? Or anything that Van Gogh had touched, really. It would be like being able to boast that you touched the _actual_ Rosetta stone (Merlin’s actually quite proud of the fact that he had done that, back when he was a kid on a school trip and it wasn’t kept behind glass), or ran your hands over the _actual_ Venus de Milo. It’s just… he wonders how someone like Cenred could possibly afford something like this. Surely a Van Gogh painting has got to cost serious money? Cenred had only experienced a mediocre level of fame, even back when he was popular. Merlin just can’t see how he could have even a fraction of the money required to buy something so precious.

Finally, he peels his eyes off of the Van Gogh and takes in all the other beauty around him. There is an elegant statue of a well-chiseled man nearby. Merlin doesn’t know if it’s by a famous sculptor or not, but he would bet good money on it being created by someone famous for their art. There are other beautiful, breathtaking pieces spread throughout the room, and as he drinks it all in, Merlin can’t help but make a mental note of them. Something doesn’t feel quite right here.

“So,” says Merlin, finally breaking the silence between them. “What can I do for you, Mr King?”

“I merely wanted to ask you how your investigation into my wife was going,” Cenred says as he sits down. He gestures for Merlin to also take a seat.

Merlin accepts, but he pauses before he replies. He’s not even sure why they’re having this conversation; there isn’t an awful lot to tell so far, other than that he doesn’t get the feeling that Morgause has been cheating with Gwaine. Not because of his interest in Merlin, because Merlin’s sure that Gwaine is equal opportunity when it comes to who he shags, but because Gwaine just didn’t seem interested in her that way, nor she him. She’d certainly seemed to find Arthur attractive enough, though. He feels a hot surge of jealousy at the thought, even though he’s not entitled to feel jealous in the slightest. Arthur is Gwen’s, not his, just as Morgause belongs with Cenred. Although the latter, at least, doesn’t appear to take their wedding vows too seriously. He can feel the way that Cenred is ogling him, and he wonders if Cenred might be as bad as his wife when it comes to infidelity. Cenred’s attention makes him feel queasy as his magic starts to stir. It doesn’t like Cenred one bit. His magic often has a way of letting him know when someone is insincere with their intentions, and while he never got those kinds of feelings from Gwaine, he can feel the power prickling uncomfortably under his skin as Cenred stares at him.

As he gingerly places his drink on the edge of the desk, Merlin realises that Cenred is waiting for him to reply. “Oh, well, there’s not a huge amount to say so far, Mr King. We don’t think that there’s anything going on between your wife and Gwaine Greene, based on our initial observations of their interactions tonight and also based on some conversations with Mr Greene himself. My partner is speaking with Morgause right now.”

Cenred hums thoughtfully as he drums his fingers on the desk. Merlin looks down at them and his heart almost jumps out of his chest as he realises that he knows the letterhead that is on the piece of paper beneath Cenred’s hand. Blackwater Holdings—one of the very companies he and Arthur have been investigating! God, this suddenly got a hell of a lot more interesting. What is Cenred’s connection to the company? Shareholder? Owner? Merlin is burning with curiosity to find out.

“I guess that is the advantage of being partners,” says Cenred with a loud laugh. “Able to be in two places at the same time. I imagine you cover more ground that way.”

Merlin nods, and his stomach churns again as Cenred gives him a searching look. “Mr King, if you don’t mind me asking, why is it that you brought me in here? You know that we just started our investigation a few days ago and only got to meet Mrs King tonight. Surely you can understand that we don’t have much to tell you that you don’t already know.”

The smile that Cenred gives him as he sits back in his chair and runs a finger around the rim of his glass is both creepy and sinful. Oh, dear god. No way. Their client is _hitting on him_. Why is Cenred coming onto him when he’s hired himself and Arthur to investigating _his wife_ for cheating? What ridiculous hypocrisy. Maybe Cenred and Morgause are as bad as each other. All Merlin really knows for sure is that he has got to get out of here.

“Well, Merlin.” Cenred practically purrs his name. “I thought that you might be a lover of art, much like myself.” Cenred knocks back the rest of the drink in his glass. Merlin has yet to touch his. “If you don’t mind my saying, I find you _quite_ the masterpiece.” Cenred leers at him. “As a matter of fact, I was wondering if you might let me paint you. I am an amateur artist myself, in my spare time.”

Merlin can feel his cheeks heat with embarrassment. Of all the things to happen, it had to be this! A sleazy come-on from an equally sleazy client. Merlin feels a shiver travel down his spine and his magic is crawling under his skin, like it’s trying to scratch its way out. He needs to get out of there and quick, so as not to reveal himself, but in a way that will cause minimal damage to their working relationship—after all, it’s not like he or Arthur are swimming in money. 

He quickly rises from his seat and clears his throat. “Mr King, thank you for showing me this.” He gestures towards the art. “I appreciate it, I really do. And I’m—I’m flattered, I really am. But I have to decline, and if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my partner.”

Cenred nods at him, obviously not too nonplussed by the rejection. “Certainly. But do let me know if you change your mind, Mr Emrys. You really are _quite striking_.”

With a shudder, Merlin turns and makes for the exit. Once he’s far away from Cenred’s lair, he leans against the wall and tugs at his bow tie, his magic fluttering as wildly as his pulse. He closes his eyes, taking some long, deep breaths as he reins his magic back in and prepares himself to get back out there to find Arthur.

After what feels like an age, Arthur has finally escaped from Morgause’s grasp, though not without having suffered through her showing him countless new outfits from her latest collection. And boy is he in desperate need of another drink after all that! He deserves it. It was worse than when Gwen dragged him off shopping and expected him to give her his ‘honest’ opinion on her outfits. Arthur is _not_ stupid. He knows from past experiences that the only correct response in these situations is to agree and say how good they look. He’s tried being honest in the past and, well, it didn’t end up going very smoothly. Most of the time, girls look good in the things they try on anyway, and the other times he could care less what clothes a person chooses to wear. He’s hardly a fashion guru, which had made listening to Morgause an additional chore. Eventually, he had managed to get away, but not without Morgause kissing him on the cheek at the same time as she tweaked his arse. He’s got no definite evidence that she’d cheat, but going by that, it’s not outside the realm of possibility. And he has an invitation to go get coffee with her later in the week which will give him more of a chance to assess Morgause’s actions. Not that he’s looking forward to the possibility of being groped or propositioned by a woman as fierce as her.

Shaking his head, Arthur makes his way back to the party, and, not for the first time tonight, finds himself searching the crowds of people for Merlin. He’s disappointed when he can’t seem to find him. The idiot has probably gone off with that roguish Gwaine bloke, forgetting all about Arthur. It makes him angry. They’re supposed to stick together when they work a case, not go gallanting off with strangers for sexual gratification. He works his way around the room again, chatting with a few groups of people whilst keeping his eyes peeled for Merlin, and when it becomes apparent that he’s nowhere to be found, Arthur decides to call it a night. He heads on out to his car, which is still waiting exactly where he left it, neither Gwen nor Merlin having decided to take it instead.

As he gets into the car, it starts to rain. He presses his forehead against the steering wheel, taking a moment to try and quell his anger at Merlin. He tells himself that Merlin gets up to in his own time is none of his business. Just because Arthur has always shared everything about his life with Merlin, doesn’t mean he gets to expect the same back in return. But this party wasn’t really his own time, Arthur argues with himself. They were supposed to be working. That’s why he’s angry. Because Merlin has been shirking his duties. He refuses to acknowledge the dangerous thought that tickles at the back of his mind, that a big part of his anger feels a lot like jealousy.

With a shaky breath, he reaches for the keys in the ignition and starts the engine.

It’s raining up a storm now, and as Arthur leaves the country house, he has to switch his windscreen wipers to maximum. Even then, it’s still tough to see the road clearly. Stupid Merlin with his stupid face, fucking off to god knows where, leaving him to go home on his own. Once he’s out of driveway he shifts up into third gear and just drives, not even thinking about his destination. He needs this. He needs to get out all of his anger and tension and _feelings_ , and this is the only way he knows how to do it. Just him, his car, and miles of roads and country lanes–no one else. He’s free to think, or not think, whatever he likes. Right now, he just wants not to think. Not to feel and not to care so damned much. He moves up another gear and presses down on the accelerator. Yes, faster. Faster is good. Faster helps.

He swerves dangerously around a corner, almost skidding off the road completely. His heart thunders in his chest at the near miss, and he slowly decreases back down to a more reasonable speed, struggling to even out his breathing. As he wipes the back of his hand across his face, he realises that it’s wet. He can’t understand why he’s been crying. He has a good life with Gwen; they’re not rich, but they’re comfortable. And he has Merlin, who, despite this evening, is generally always there for Arthur, just waiting at the sidelines for Arthur to need him. Merlin, who always seems to come through and has the weirdest moments of wisdom considering how most of the time he’s a complete idiot. He’s got no reason to be crying. And yet, he is.

Arthur shakes his head. He knows he should go home, back to Gwen, to try and patch things up after their little spat at the party today. I mean, they’re supposed to be getting married next week. They should at least be able to talk after a fight. But he can’t bring himself to go back yet. He feels too melancholy and unprepared. Too raw. 

Normally, he would turn to Merlin in these kind of circumstances, ranting to him about how Gwen always makes him out to be the bad guy, when it takes two to argue. But he can’t go to Merlin’s flat tonight. It’s completely out of the question. He pushes away the pictures that flutter through his mind, images of the tangled limbs he might find there causing another sharp jab in his gut. He sighs and his forehead scrunches as he tries to think. Where else can he go? He glances at the clock on the dashboard. 11:43pm. Late, but not too late. Besides, even though Leon will kill him for waking him up at this hour, Arthur knows that he’ll be forgiven. Eventually. They’ve been mates for as long as he can remember, and he’s done a lot worse than turn up at Leon’s door after a fight with Gwen. 

He flips on the indicator and heads off towards Leon’s house. Then, as he’s motoring down the main road, all of a sudden a deer dashes out in right in front of him. There is no advance warning, and little that Arthur can actually do to prevent the collision, as he never even saw it coming. He tries to brake, but when he pumps the pedal nothing happens—it’s as if the brakes don’t exist. The car barrels head on into the deer, and it flips up onto the bonnet of his car, smashing his windscreen. The car spins out of control. Arthur stomps on the brake pedal over and over, desperate to try and stop his momentum, but to no avail; a few seconds later, the car slams into a tree. He feels himself jerk forward in his seat, and the last thing he can remember is a sickening crack and the way everything seems to go strangely silent. His breath stutters and he finds himself trembling as pain starts to bloom in his head. And then it all goes blissfully blank.

The next thing Arthur can remember is awakening to an all-consuming pain. It feels as though his head has been split completely in two. He tries to move, but it sends yet more pain shooting through his body. Somehow, he manages to get his hand to touch his head. He giggles. It’s warm and oozy. Oozy, that sounds funny. Rhymes with boozy, heh. He knows he’s hurt, and on some level he knows that the flood of warm liquid cascading down the side of his face isn’t good. But what exactly is it? He opens his mouth and catches some of it with his tongue, smacking his lips. It’s dark and heavy and metallic, he thinks. He’s sure he knows, he’s sure— He’s... not sure what he’s thinking in anymore. His eyelids start to droop, and he slumps forward in his seat. He feels soft and tingly all over, now; it’s not pain, and it’s nice. He smiles to himself. It’s like he’s sleeping on candy floss. Sleep, yes. Sleep sounds good. He will—

No. There’s a tug on his consciousness, and he squints as a bright light starts to draw ever closer to him, until it’s all he can see. Arthur raises his arm in front is his eyes when it gets too bright, blinking as he tries to adjust. He tumbles out of the car and pulls himself up to standing. The light is hypnotic. Mesmerising. He feels himself drawn towards it. He reaches out his with his hand and his fingers brush tentatively against the light. Warmth and joy and love, pure, unadulterated love, wash over him, and Arthur sighs with contentment. He takes another step forward, skimming his fingers over where the light begins, like some kind of weird portal to another life.

_“Arthur…? Arthur!”_

An anguished voice pierces through the foggy haze around him, and suddenly, Arthur is acutely aware of the change in his surroundings. He’s not outside anymore, and as his eyes adjust to the harsh fluorescent lighting that flickers over head, he realises that he’s inside a hospital. He looks around, confused. How did he end up here? He was… He was outside. Wasn’t he? Arthur is sure that he was. He doesn’t recall how he got here. Maybe that was part of the car crash. Oh, god. He covers his mouth with his hand. The car crash. How could he have forgotten? Has he been here in the hospital for that? He reaches up his hand to touch his forehead. It’s cool to the touch, but clean. No sign of any blood, nor any injuries. In fact, Arthur feels great. Even the old football injury in his knee isn’t giving him any bother. How long has he been in hospital for? Has he been in a coma? That would explain why he feels so calm and well-rested, as well as the fact that he has no lingering injuries from the accident.

The corridor is quiet. Arthur can hear the hum of machines and small, regular beeps coming from medical equipment in the distance. He wonders if he’s supposed to be out of bed yet.

The door at the end of the corridor is flung open, and suddenly there’s a flurry of activity as a trolley is pushed through, attended to by two paramedics. A woman in a scrubs rushes up to them.

“What do we have?” she asks, grabbing her stethoscope from around her neck as they hurry along the corridor, passing right through Arthur as though he’s not even there.

“A male, about twenty to twenty-five years of age. Driver of a hatchback car that hit a deer and veered off the road into a tree. He was travelling approximately 50 miles an hour when he went around a bend; then we think he hit the deer which rotated the car, sending it head first into the tree. Injuries sustained: he has several deep lacerations to his head below his left eye, extreme trauma to his head. Severe hemorrhaging. We estimate he had been there approximately ten to fifteen minutes before we arrived on the scene. The patient has not regained consciousness. Blood pressure was 80 over 40 on arrival, patient was sweaty, and then breathing ceased and he went into V Fib. Administered three shocks with the defib. Heart is beating again, but pulse is still tacky.”

The doctor nods as she examines the man. From what Arthur can see as he trails after them, the bloke on the trolley looks to be in a bad way. His hair—what Arthur can see of it through the blood—appears to be blond, but his face is covered in blood and looks badly swollen so Arthur can’t really make out what he looks like. He has a weird contraption on his face, like an oxygen mask, but not. The machine it’s attached to whooshes gently up and down. Poor thing, thinks Arthur. He follows them into the resus bay, where no one disturbs him as they set about transferring the IVs to new hooks and switching the machines that the guy is attached to.

The doors to the resus bay are pushed open and Merlin— _Merlin_ of all people—rushes in.

“Please, please,” he begs. “How is he? Is he…? Please, he’s going to be… he’s going to be okay, right? Isn’t he?”

“Please, Mr Emrys. You shouldn’t be in here. We need to let the doctors do their work. They are doing everything they can for him, I promise,” one of the nurses says as she pulls him back through the door. 

Merlin is still protesting. “Please… I need to know…” Arthur can hear him pleading.

“Come with me, Mr Emrys. I’ll have a word with one of the doctors and let you know how your partner is doing,” the nurse replies.

Arthur blinks at the swinging doors. A partner? _Merlin_ has a _partner_? But Arthur works with Merlin day in and day out, how did he not know this? Perhaps his coma theory is true. Maybe this man—whoever he is—started dating Merlin after his accident. God, even now, he can’t help but feel a small stab of jealousy that Merlin is with someone. But if that’s true, then Merlin needs him right now. He can’t stand here dwelling on his own stupid feelings at a moment like this. Merlin is upset, and he needs a friend. 

That settled, Arthur strides after him. He goes to push open the door and stumbles as he passes straight through it with no resistance. Strange. His mind must be playing tricks on him. An after-effect of his own accident? He’ll have to ask Merlin exactly what has happened, because Arthur doesn’t remember anything other than leaving Cenred King’s party, that weird coma-dream of the bright light, and then finding himself here. He’s sure Merlin will be able to explain it to him, but later, after he’s comforted Merlin and helped him find out how this partner of his is doing.

He has to walk around the reception area twice before he realises that Merlin is, in fact, in the family room. Arthur catches a glimpse of him when the nurse opens the door to leave, and sneaks in through the gap just before it closes behind her.

Taking a seat next to Merlin, Arthur sighs, but doesn’t speak. Merlin doesn’t even glance at him. They sit there for a long time. The silence in the room is deafening. Outside the room, Arthur can hear the commotion and noise of the hospital: people calling to one another, footsteps bustling past, coughs, and the squeak of wheels as someone is pushed along on a gurney. A telephone peals in the distance. It all feels like another world. It’s so damn quiet in this room, the only sound the slightly hitched breathing from Merlin. Arthur doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. He figures that Merlin may need some time to himself right now, but at least he can be there for him, hopefully as a comforting presence. How must Merlin be feeling? Arthur wonders. How would he feel it if were Gwen or Merlin—or worse, both—lying in a hospital bed like that, covered in blood? If they were hooked up to so many machines that it didn’t even look like they were alive and breathing of their own accord anymore, a careful balancing act between life and death? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

Arthur doesn’t know a great deal about medical things. But he does know that losing large amounts of blood and having to get your heart restarted is _not_ a good thing. He can’t even begin to imagine it being someone he loved in that bed. And here Merlin is having to do this _twice_ in as many… well, Arthur’s not sure how much time has passed since his accident, but it can’t be that long, surely. As he sits next to Merlin, he swallows around the lump of emotions that seem to have stuck in his throat. How can Merlin stand this? Arthur’s heart hurts for him, and his hands twitch before he grips at the fabric of his trousers to prevent himself from putting a comforting hand on Merlin’s knee. He looks over. Merlin’s head is bowed low, his chin almost brushing his chest as he stares at his hands, unmoving. So different to the Merlin Arthur has always known, and the ache in his heart deepens. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur whispers.

Merlin’s head shoots up, and his eyes search the room anxiously. For a moment, his gaze flicks towards Arthur, as if he’s staring right at him. But at the same time, there’s no acknowledgment that he’s seen Arthur at all. No glimmer of recognition in his eye, or a small upturn of his lips. Perhaps it’s the grief. Merlin looks-but-doesn’t-look at him for a long while, before finally he glances away, shaking his head, and stares back down at his hands in his lap.

As Arthur glances down at his own balled-up fists, he frowns at himself. What _is_ he wearing? His fingers are clenched in pristine white trousers. How strange. In fact, his whole outfit is weird. Everything is a spotless, gleaming white, the likes of which you only see in detergent adverts. It’s a suit, he realises, complete with a white tie and immaculately white lace-up shoes. He can’t understand what’s happening. He knows that something is not _quite_ right with him and this whole situation. Merlin has been sitting there for so long, without so much as acknowledging his presence, which he would never do under ordinary circumstances. But what is it that’s wrong? Arthur can’t quite figure it out.

He’s startled out of his thoughts when he hears a stifled sob and notices a teardrop glistening on the back of Merlin’s hand. _Oh, Merlin!_ Arthur thinks his own heart might be breaking. Fuck it, he decides. Even if Merlin hasn’t acknowledged him, Arthur is still his friend and he just has to comfort him. He reaches out his hand and is just about to touch Merlin when the door opens. All of a sudden, all those outside noises come flooding into the room, rude, abrasive and intrusive, popping their little bubble like a pin.

The nurse pokes her head around the door. “Mr Emrys?” she asks. “There’s a woman here, claiming to be your partners fiancée? I told her that she was mistaken of course. But she insists she’s not.”

Then Arthur hears Gwen’s voice behind the nurse. “Merlin? Merlin, are you in there?”

It’s the appearance of Gwen that seems to spur Merlin into action, and he seems to come alive again as he sees her behind the nurse.

“Gwen?” he chokes out, standing up.

She pushes her way past the nurse, and they rush into each other’s arms. “Oh, Merlin, Merlin,” Gwen sobs. “I came as soon as I heard. Have you—have you seen him?”

They’re wrapped in a tight embrace, and Arthur can see that Merlin is trembling as he holds Gwen. “ _Oh, Gwen_ ,” he gasps, and he doesn’t sound like Merlin at all. He turns his face and presses it into Gwen’s soft, curly hair—Arthur can almost smell her coconut shampoo—and… is he crying? From the way that Merlin’s back tenses and then shakes, Arthur thinks he might be. Finally, Merlin lets out a sob that wracks his body from head to toe.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay,” comforts Gwen, rubbing his back gently. “He’ll be okay. He—he has to be.” Gwen’s voice cracks on the last word. She struggles to clear her throat, and her voice is shaky as she carries on, “What do you know so far?”

“It’s pretty bad, Gwen. There was so much blood and all these machines and wires. He’s on a ventilator.” As Merlin pulls away, he holds a hand over his mouth and fiercely wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. “They—they asked me to leave. S—so that—that’s all I know.”

The nurse has been watching their exchange cautiously, but seems to have concluded that Gwen is harmless and that they both know each other. “Mr Emrys, why don’t you and your friend take a seat? I will get a doctor to come and talk with you shortly.”

Merlin and Gwen both nod at her and go to take seats next to Arthur. Gwen reaches out takes Merlin’s hand in hers, letting out a shaky breath. She doesn’t look at Arthur, and he feels a surge of anger. Even his own fiancée is ignoring him, and that is just too much!

“Gwen,” he says, with a raised eyebrow. She doesn’t respond, so he raises his voice. “Gwen. Look at me.”

Merlin looks up sharply, but Gwen doesn’t so much as flinch. Is she still mad about their fight? That really is taking it way too far! This is an emergency, for god’s sake! There’s no way Gwen would ignore him under such circumstances. So what the _hell_ is going on? Is this even real? Arthur goes to pinch himself and flinches when he feels the pain. That’s what people do when they think they’re in a dream, right? But does the fact that Arthur can feel it mean that he’s awake, or could he still be asleep? Maybe this is all some weird coma dream and pretty soon he’ll wake up and there will be Merlin and Gwen sitting at his bedside. Or maybe he will never wake up and will continue living here without a single person responding to him, for the rest of his life, or at least until they decide to pull the plug on him.

The door opens and a rather serious-looking man comes in. He’s wearing smart trousers and a shirt and tie, along with a white lab coat. A stethoscope is draped around his neck. He’s tall, and his eyes are as dark as his hair; the perfect image of a dreamy A&E doctor.

“Lancelot?” exclaims Gwen. She jumps to her feet and stares at him with confusion.

 _Lancelot?_ The name seems familiar to Arthur, for some reason, though he can’t recall why he knows it.

Lancelot looks at her with unconcealed surprise and fondness, taking her outstretched hands in his. “Guinevere? Gwen Smith? Is it really you?”

Gwen bites her lip and tears threaten to fall from her eyes. “Yes, yes, Lance. W—why are you here?”

Lancelot looks at her, his eyes taking in her face. Now his expression is sad and pensive, but still kind as he glances over at Merlin with sympathy. “Gwen, I came to speak to Mr Emrys about his partner. Are you—are you a friend?”

Gwen nods and gives Merlin a watery smile. “Yes, we’re friends. Good friends.”

Lancelot nods as well. “Good, good. I’m glad Mr Emrys has a friend here with. Come, let’s all sit.” He motions back to the chairs, pulling one out and facing Gwen and Merlin. “Mr Emrys—”

“Merlin,” says Merlin.

“Merlin,” says Lancelot with a nod. He pulls his stethoscope from his neck and twists it in his hands. “My name is Lancelot du Lac, and I’m a doctor here at Camelot Hospital. I’m here to talk with you about your boyfriend, Arthur.”

Arthur feels like the bottom of his stomach has dropped out, and he shivers as he feels cold all over. Him? They want to talk to Merlin about him? No, no. That was Merlin’s boyfriend on that bed, not _Arthur_. But suddenly, an awful lot of things start to slip into place. That strange, bright light at the car crash. The way he doesn’t remember how he got to the hospital. The way he doesn’t have a single scratch on him, despite being in an accident what felt like moments before. They had pushed the man on the trolley right through him. Oh, god. He had blond hair. Achingly familiar blond hair, he remembers now. And he’s wearing strange white clothes, and no one has said a single word to him since he’s been here. No one has even so much as looked at him. Well, except for Merlin.

Merlin is staring at Lancelot, shocked. “Oh, no. Arthur wasn’t—I mean, isn’t. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s Gwen’s fiancé,” he says, correcting the doctor’s mistake. He looks over at Gwen with concern and places his hand over hers. “Arthur and I,” Merlin pauses to lick his lips. “We’re just business partners.”

“Oh,” says Lancelot, switching his sympathetic gaze towards Gwen.

Gwen straightens her back, tilting up her chin, which quivers as she speaks despite her best efforts. Arthur feels a surge of warmth and affection flood over him. That’s his girl. So strong and brave.

“Lancelot, please,” she says, her voice shaking. “How is he? I need to know—we both need to.”

Lancelot takes a deep breath and speaks quietly but earnestly. “When Arthur came in, he had suffered a severe blow to the head. He had already lost a lot of blood when the paramedics reached him and tried to stem the flow. They had to re-start his heart en route and assist him with his breathing. We did everything we could, we really did. We tried our absolute best, but ultimately there was nothing we could do…”

 _No. No, no, no_ , thinks Arthur. There’s a dull ache in his chest and he feels like he can’t breathe. _It’s not true. It’s not. It’s NOT._ He’s here. He hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s not, he’s not—

“...Arthur was declared legally dead ten minutes ago. I’m so sorry, Gwen.”

—Oh god, he is. He’s _dead_. It all makes sense to Arthur now. 

He feels a pulling on his consciousness again, and as he loses himself in a bright light that starts to engulf his person, he can hear Gwen’s anguished cry echoing around him.


	2. Death is Only the Beginning

With his magic finally calm, Merlin pulls out his phone and glances at it as he heads back to the reception room, away from creepy Cenred’s evil lair. He hadn’t realised how late it was getting. He wonders how Arthur has been getting on with Morgause, if they’re any closer to finding out anything about the case they’re supposed to be investigating, rather than the one Merlin thinks he may have inadvertently stumbled upon. He shakes his head. He wishes that he had been able to snap a few pictures of the paperwork with his phone; at least then they would have some solid proof of Cenred’s involvement with Blackwater Investments. It’s no coincidence, Merlin is certain, that Cenred somehow has priceless pieces of art lying around his house, despite being a mediocre-at-best musician with no way of ever earning that much money in an honest manner. Though, was there really an honest way to earn lots of money? Merlin reflects on all the rich people he’s ever known, which admittedly isn’t very many. The main person that springs to mind is Uther Pendragon, Arthur’s father, who has always been a less than scrupulous businessman. He was even more callous when it came to his own son towing the line, deciding to kick Arthur out and disinherit him without a penny to his name when Arthur had told him that he would never marry a woman of Uther’s choosing.

With nowhere else to go, Arthur had turned to Merlin, and with his help had started to rebuild his life piece by piece. Arthur had finished his Masters in Business and Merlin in Ancient Languages (useful for his magical studies, even if it hadn’t prepared him to become a PI), and together they had set up their private investigation business. They had come up with the idea after solving a murder that had baffled even the police; they now considered it their first case, but at the time, they had fallen into it without meaning to. The details had been all over the news as the police tried desperately to find any clues that might help them to catch the killer. Merlin hadn’t really thought much about it; he’d never been one to watch the news. He’d caught snippets here and there, but mostly he’d drowned it all out in favour of studying new books from Gaius, (some which he had given to Merlin as essential reading, and others which delved into darker magic that Gaius had been horrified to find in Merlin’s possession) and pondering what to do now he’d finished his Masters. It was only when he was out one night with his friends that the murder had been brought up, and Merlin had realised that the victim had been a mutual acquaintance. He and Arthur had stepped in, then. They made a list of suspects and did their best to befriend anyone who might have knowledge of the case, which had helped to narrow the suspects down to just a handful of people. But it was only when Merlin decided to risk using his magic to help solve the mystery that they had made a major breakthrough. He had used a spell he had recently learned to bring Finna back to her own body for a few minutes, not really understanding the risks he’d been taking by dabbling in such magics. She had been petrified, and it had been a hard job to keep her quiet and calm to ask her a few questions. But she’d given Merlin enough to go on that they’d been able to pinpoint the killer and then solve the case. Necromancy was a dangerous business, as Merlin had later realised, but it did come in handy when you could question the dead about their own deaths. 

It had been rewarding seeing Halig put away, even if Merlin’s magic had let its discomfort be known when he’d been in the murderer’s presence. Even now, every time he thinks of the man his magic squirms, and he’s experienced similar sensations around other criminals. All of which is to say that Merlin knows a suspect when he sees one, and Cenred is definitely suspicious. Even if Merlin can’t figure out what he’s done yet.

When he returns to the reception room, Merlin finds that that crowds have thinned out a fair amount. People are obviously starting to say their goodbyes and make their departures. Merlin searches the room for Arthur, but it’s obvious that he’s not there. He does spot Gwaine, though, who beams at him across the room and gives him a cheeky wink. Merlin can’t help but grin and quirk an eyebrow at him. Well, if Arthur can sod off home, abandoning Merlin to the party, Merlin doesn’t see why he shouldn’t have a bit of fun with someone who’s ready and willing.

He crosses the floor and all but flutters his eyelashes. “All right, Gwaine?”

“Well, hello there, stranger.” Gwaine grins. “Been abandoned have you? I saw blondie leaving a while ago.” He nods in the direction of the door.

Merlin glances over his shoulder and pulls a face. “The prat. How long ago did he leave?”

Gwaine hums and pulls his sleeve back to look at his watch. “About… twenty… maybe thirty minutes ago, I’d say. But hey, why don’t you forget about the princess and let me give you a lift back to mine?”

Merlin bites his lip and moves closer. “Yeah, that would be okay. Better than okay.”

Sliding an arm around him, Gwaine pulls him in for another kiss, only to have it aborted when Merlin’s phone starts to ring. It’s Arthur’s ringtone, and he’s half tempted to just ignore it. But he knows how annoying Arthur can be: if Merlin ignores him, Arthur will just keep calling over and over until he picks up. He answers the call.

“Listen, Arthur,” he growls. “This had better be good, after you abandoned me like that!”

_“Mr Emrys?”_ asks a polite voice down the phone line. 

“Yes, speaking,” replies Merlin with a frown. That’s not Arthur. And if it’s not Arthur, then who has his phone? And why are they calling him at this time of night?

_”Mr Emrys, I’m calling about Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. I am sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but Mr Pendragon has been in a car accident.”_

“Oh. I… I see.” 

_“You were listed as his partner in his next of kin.”_

“Y–yes, of course,” Merlin stutters. That makes sense. Arthur must have changed it after he and Uther became estranged, though he had never mentioned it. He closes his eyes, unable to stop himself seeing images of Arthur laying there broken and hurt at the side of the road in the cold, dark night.

_“He’s on his way to Camelot General Hospital now. Are you able to come in and be with him?”_

“Yes, yes. I—I’ll be there straight away,” promises Merlin, already trying to figure out how he can get from here in Cenred’s mansion to the hospital. Taxi or an Uber, maybe? Gods, why can’t he stop thinking about how bad Arthur’s injuries are? It’s killing him not to know what exactly is wrong with him. “Is—is it bad?” he manages to ask.

_”We won’t know for sure until he gets here and we can assess him, but… it’s not looking good. Best that you be here for your partner, Mr Emrys.”_

Merlin’s hands are shaking when he hangs up, and he claps a hand over his mouth to prevent any sobs from escaping. Oh gods. Arthur. Arthur’s been in an accident. Crashed his car. He’s hurt and alone and Merlin isn’t there by his side. How could he have gone off with Cenred like that, instead of waiting for Arthur to get back from wherever Morgause had taken him? How could he have let Arthur go off alone? Tears gather in his eyes, and Merlin feels like he’s going to be sick all over his expensive rented shoes.

“Merlin?” asks Gwaine, rubbing his back with one hand. “Is everything okay?”

“I—I need to get to the hospital,” Merlin somehow manages to say through his shock.

Gwaine nods, even though he looks a bit surprised. “Did something happen? Come on, we can take my car and you can tell me on the way...” He carefully guides Merlin out to his car and helps him into the passenger seat. He even goes so far as to fasten Merlin’s seat belt for him, when Merlin’s hands prove to be shaking too much to be of use for anything at all.

Gwaine gently asks him a few questions, obviously trying to figure out what’s going on. But Merlin can’t seem to find the words. He stares down at his hands in his lap, opening and closing his mouth several times before Gwaine gives up and just drives. Merlin finds himself staring out of the window into the darkness, wondering how Arthur is doing, imagining the very worst. And then before Merlin has so much as blinked—or at least, that’s what it feels like—Gwaine is parking the car and shaking Merlin’s leg.

“Th–thanks, Gwaine,” he says, stumbling in his haste to get out of the car. “You’re—you’re a really good friend.”

“Hey, _’Rodrigo’_ ,” Gwaine says, putting air-quotes around Merlin’s fake name. “I hope your friend is all right.”

Merlin stands there, tugging at his hair as he glances at the glass doors of the hospital’s reception. “I—Yes, m–me too. Thanks again. For the car and stuff.”

“Let me know if he’s okay, yeah?”

Merlin nods and slams the car door, before he runs towards the hospital. The glass doors slide open smoothly to accommodate him.

He’s panting when he reaches the receptionist.

“I’m here—I need to see—” Merlin pauses for a moment to regain his breath. “Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. I’m here to see him. He was brought in not long ago. Car accident.”

The receptionist seems to take an eternity, tapping away at her computer and umming and ahhing to herself.

“What did you say his name was again?” she asks, peering at him over her glasses.

“Arthur. Arthur Pendragon.”

“Date of birth?”

“Eleventh of October, 1993.”

“And your relation to the patient?”

Merlin grits his teeth, starting to get impatient. “He’s my partner.”

“And your name?”

“I’m Merlin. Merlin Emrys. E-M-R-Y-S. Look, I just want to see him. When can I see him?” He needs to know that Arthur is going to be okay, that he’s not hurt too badly. The thought of his life without Arthur in it is so terrifying, it doesn’t even bear thinking about. If he can just see Arthur, it will make this whole thing more bearable. If he could just touch him, that would be even better. Back when he was a child, Merlin used to heal his own cuts and scrapes with magic, until his mother had caught him doing it one day and had given him such a scolding, he had never dared do it again. He’s sure that he could do _something_ to help with Arthur’s injuries, if he can just get to Arthur before the doctors start assessing him.

The receptionist stares at him over her glasses again. Merlin glares back. “Please take a seat, Mr Emrys. A doctor will be out to speak with you when there’s any news.”

Merlin’s heart sinks in coordination with his body as he slumps down into an empty chair. He watches silently, observing the way the doctors and nurses keep disappearing behind the same set of swinging doors. If he could just… sneak through, then he could find Arthur, try and do the healing thing, and then slip out again. He’d know how Arthur was doing and no one would be any the wiser.

Suddenly, without any prior warning, Merlin feels a tightening in his chest as his magic fizzes and sparks and _burns_ in his veins. He feels sure for a second that this must be what dying feels like. Above him, the fluorescent lighting is dancing and flickering with his magic. One of the bulbs starts to glow, raining sparks down on the waiting room, making people squeal and panic. Then, just as suddenly as it came, the feeling passes and Merlin can breathe again. Big, plentiful lungfuls of air. He glances around at the disturbance his magic caused, and while everyone else is distracted, he quickly slips through the swinging doors.

Merlin stares at the maze of cubicles and corridors around him. Where should he go? Where would they bring in someone who had just had a car accident? He sees signs pointing to the Triage Bay and Resus. They both sound vaguely like something from one of the TV shows his mum watches, and now Merlin finds himself wishing he’d been paying closer attention over the years so he’d know the damn difference between the two. He ends up following the sign for triage, because he’s sure that has something to do with assessing things, or bleeding, or _something_.

When he spots the doors with TRIAGE cleared marked on them, he rushes inside. 

He stops short when he sees two paramedics wheeling someone in on a trolley, a doctor and several nurses gathering around the bed as they push. Merlin feels his vision start to blur as the world loses focus around the edges, and he’s not entirely stable on his feet. Even the sounds around him seem to have faded and muted. He takes a good look at the man, taking in all the details that he can. The shock of blond hair, smeared through with blood, the face white as a sheet in places where he can see it behind the breathing mask. The ruined tux that has been cut away from his body to allow access for a dizzying array of lines leading to blood bags and IVs. Oh no. Merlin knows, without a doubt, that it’s Arthur lying there. It’s Arthur looking so lifeless and broken.

“Arthur? Arthur!” he calls.

A hand grasps his shoulder, but Merlin can barely feel it. He tries to fight his way forward, his eyes on Arthur.

“Please, please,” he begs. “How is he? Is he…? Please, he’s going to be… he’s going to be okay, right? Isn’t he?”

“Please, Mr Emrys,” a nurse says kindly to him. “You shouldn’t be in here. We need to let the doctors do their work. They are doing everything they can for your partner, I promise.” She takes Merlin back through the door, despite his protests.

“But, please! I just—I just need to see him. Talk to him. Just for a minute. Only a minute!”

She links her arm with his and strokes it gently. “Please, Mr Emrys, I know what you must be feeling, but we must let the doctors do their job.”

Merlin wants to yell at her, to tell her to let him go back, that he can do a much better job than all the other doctors in the country put together. But as she takes him inside a quiet room, muting all the outside sounds of the hospital, and he feels the all the fight drain right out of him. Fuck, this is bad. Really, really bad. That was Arthur in there, just metres away, fighting for his life. Arthur, the boy that Merlin had practically grown up with, and that he had worshipped for just as long. The thought that he might not make it is something that Merlin refuses, _refuses_ to think about.

He concentrates on deep breaths, in and out, in and out. He can’t think about this right now, he can’t, he can’t. So he focuses on the breathing, and somehow it helps. It feels as though Arthur could be right there in the room with him, waiting with him in their quiet solitude, sheltered from the outside world and the knowledge of the doctors. The temperature of the room changes, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up, as if someone is watching him. Merlin raises his head and looks around with a frown. He could have _sworn_ he’d seen someone sitting beside him out of the corner of his eye. A tingle runs down his spine, his skin pimpling with goosebumps. He’s imagining things. He must be.

Merlin stares at his hands again, his heart thundering in his chest. He chalks it up to his overactive imagination, but he’s still freaked out. God, what is taking the doctors so long? He needs to know something, _anything_ before he starts to go crazy from worrying.

“Oh, Merlin.”

Merlin snaps his head up again when he honest to God, swears, he _swears_ , he heard someone say his own name. And yet, he’s all alone. Merlin shudders again. He knows full well that there are ways and means to bring spirits back to this world. He even remembers talking to a ghost that lived at his grandparents house when he was a child. At the time, he hadn’t understood why his mother and grandparents had been so shocked and terrified; the boy had been lonely and just wanted a playmate. What Merlin hadn’t realised was that the little boy was his uncle, come to visit his parents and watch over them. He’d kept quiet about the ghosts after that, not wanting to scare anyone or cause his mother distress, but he would not put it past a restless spirit to think it perfectly fine to wander around a hospital.

Merlin shivered again. No. He had to try and put that thought from his mind. Given his—albeit limited—experience with speaking to the dead, if it IS a ghost, it is probably someone who has died recently, since ghosts have to know that they’re dead before they can consciously will themselves to appear, and only the recently dead tend to be unaware of their own passing. Most of his own past encounters with a ghost have been with spirits who appeared on their own. He hopes it doesn’t happen again here, as even an adult it can be quite unnerving.

With a sigh, his thoughts return to Arthur, and he racks his brains for all his medical knowledge. He knows that head wounds can be worse that they appear to be; that they bleed a lot, and fast. But that isn’t helping him calm down any. They had had Arthur hooked up to all sorts of IVs and drips. Even if he’d lost some blood, they could and would be replacing it.

_But what if he’s lost too much blood? What if he’s seriously injured, or dead?_ Merlin thinks about what it would be like not to have Arthur around anymore. No more ridiculous early morning texts demanding that Merlin making him coffee, forthwith! No more casual nights lying top-to-tail on the sofa, watching terrible movies or the latest Marvel films. No more looking up as the door swings open to the office and seeing Arthur give him that big, wide grin where he smiles with his whole face when he sees Merlin. Not for anyone else, just for Merlin. God, the thought of never seeing that smile again. Of never laughing, never joking, never being teased by Arthur again.

He tries to stifle a sob, but it escapes his lips anyway, and he can feel a few tears travelling down his face and dripping onto his hands. God, Arthur would never know how much Merlin loves him. That he loves Arthur so much that he would step aside and watch him marry another, because that is what Arthur wanted. Merlin sighs out loud.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting when there is a gentle knock to the door, and he looks up as a nurse pokes her head into the room.

When she tells him Gwen is here, he jumps to his feet. Gwen pushes her way into the room and flings her arms around Merlin, almost knocking him over.

“Gwen,” is all he can manage, as the image of Arthur being brought in on the trolley plays in his mind again. He can feel himself trembling, everything hitting him all at once and he presses his face into her neck, her hair brushing against his face. A sob tears it’s way from his throat and tears sting his eyes. As she rubs his back soothingly, Merlin tries to tell her what he knows, stuttering and stammering so much, he’s not sure exactly what he’s saying. When the nurse tells them a doctor will be with them soon, he can’t help but think the worst, and Merlin is sure that he knows what’s coming next. 

He can feel a warm hand on his, which he vaguely registers as Gwen’s, but he doesn’t even remember how they came to be sitting. His body and mind are numb with grief. He knows Gwen has been asking him questions about Arthur and his condition and somehow Merlin has been answering, but he hasn’t really registered what he’s been saying.

_Gwen. Look at me._

Merlin startles and glances in the direction of the noise. Yes. He _definitely_ heard something that time. He is certain he heard a voice. He almost asks Gwen if she heard it too; he’s sure it was her name, but she’s rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand and doesn’t appear to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Then again, it’s probably a not good idea to mention that he’s hearing voices in a hospital.

When the door opens again, a doctor comes in. Apparently, he’s a friend of Gwen’s. Merlin’s leg jiggles with impatience. _He just wants to know how Arthur is_. He could care less about social niceties right now.

“...talk with you about your boyfriend, Arthur.”

What? Boyfriend? Merlin stares at the doctor, mouth gaping. “Oh, no,” he blurts. “Oh, no. Arthur wasn’t—I mean, isn’t…” Merlin trips over his words as they try to get out. He pauses a moment then starts again, his heart sinking a bit as he admits, “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s Gwen’s fiancé.” 

Merlin is proud that he can now say that without a flicker of true emotion showing on his face. It had taken him a long time and lots of practice, but it was necessary to ensure that Arthur was happy. As he glances at Gwen, she gives him a weak smile and places her hand over one of his.

“Arthur and I. We’re just business partners.” And that’s all we’ll ever be, he thinks morosely.

As the doctor lists Arthur’s injuries, odd phrases repeat themselves in Merlin’s mind. _Severe blow to the head. Lost a lot of blood. Re-start his heart. Did everything they could. Nothing they could do._

NO. No, no, no. Arthur’s not dead. He’s not. 

_”...declared legally dead ten minutes ago…”_

Looking pale and drawn, Gwen cries out with anguish and Merlin pulls her into his arms. Oh god. How are they going to manage? How will they cope? He’s gone. Arthur is gone.

There’s a gentle knock on the shop door, and Merlin glances up from his desk. There is a woman waiting patiently on the threshold. She’s smartly dressed in a black skirt suit with a light blue blouse peeking out from under her fitted suit jacket. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a severe ponytail, and her hand clutches a small briefcase. All are a dead giveaway that she’s with the police.

Merlin has been thinking a lot since Arthur died, and he can’t seem to shake the feeling that something’s not quite right. Things had seemed a bit odd that evening, what with Cenred and his unexpected connection to Blackwater Holdings, and there had also been the strange events that had happened to them a few days before—the time when they’d almost been run off the road is fresh in his mind. In all honesty, he’s been wondering if the police might come sniffing around, so he’s somehow unsurprised to see this young police woman appearing suddenly at the door.

He manages a weak smile and a reluctant nod, and she comes in, the door making the bell above it jingle merrily. He’s heard that sound so many times, and it feels like a slap in the face as he realises that it’s not Arthur—that it will never be Arthur bursting in on him in excitement ever again. Merlin wonders if the young police officer would notice if he made the bell melt or something behind her. Best not chance it.

Merlin extends a hand to the officer, and she takes it with a big smile, shaking it firmly.

“Mr Emrys?” she asks.

Merlin nods and motions to the chair in front of his desk. “Yes. Please, take a seat.” He turns and busies himself with the kettle, grabbing two clean mugs from the cupboard in the corner. A plain clothes police officer. It looks like there could be something to his weird feelings about Arthur’s death after all. “Tea?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at her.

She beams at him as she takes a seat, and then seems to realise that she ought to be more serious and sobers up. “Please.”

Merlin gives her a tentative smile and then gives himself over to the comforting ritual of tea-making. Teabags in the mugs. Hot water in. He drums his fingers as he waits for it to steep. “Oh,” he realises an instant later. “How do you like your tea? Do you want milk? Sugar?”

“Oh, milk and two sugars please.”

Once Merlin has stalled their conversation as long as he feasibly can, he brings over the mugs and settles down in his chair. “How can I help you...” Merlin glances at her again taking in her plain, professional clothes and her age, trying to decide her rank. “Detective Sergeant…?” 

“Elena. Elena Godwin,” she says, her blonde ponytail swishing madly.

As she looks over at Merlin, her vibrant personality starts to pale a little, and he can see her take on a more professional persona, straightening up her posture as she pulls her briefcase up onto her lap and opens it to procure a file. She holds it out to Merlin.

“We’ve just had the forensics report back from Mr Pendragon’s car crash. As you’re an investigator yourself, we thought that you might want to take a look.”

Merlin looks at her, intrigued, and it takes him a long, contemplative moment before he takes the file from her waiting hand. He’s not sure he wants to know what’s in the file, but on the other hand, he _needs_ to know. As he stares at it, the feeling of foreboding that had been following him ever since Arthur’s death comes back to him full force, and he smooths his hand across the closed folder, as though he can glean the information from inside it that way without any pain or heartbreak. With a sigh, he sits back in his chair and taps his forefinger against his lip thoughtfully before he opens it.

“It’s okay,” comes DS Godwin’s voice. “Take your time. I know that this can’t be easy for you to do.”

Merlin nods at her over the top of the file, and then looks back down at the papers inside. The police report is thorough and reads as a fairly uniform report, until he gets to the part a few paragraphs in; it is there that the important details start to emerge. Some of them are things that Merlin already knows, such as the heavy rainfall that night, along with Arthur’s considerable, but not quite illegal speed. Arthur had always enjoyed driving a little fast, but he’d never been dangerous, as far as Merlin knew. There is one really interesting thing. They had found no evidence that Arthur had used his brakes at all. No skid marks on the road. The report showed that Arthur’s brake cables had been severed, thus preventing him from having even a chance of stopping his car when the deer rushed out in front of him. He’d hit it head on. Why had the brake cables failed? That wasn’t like Arthur at all. He’d taken such good care of that car, and Merlin is sure he’d never have let his brakes get so bad that they would snap on their own. He had _known_ there was something weird about the car crash.

Merlin scans the rest of the report quickly, taking in the major details. As he’s turning the pages, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He glances over his shoulder. That feeling again, like at the hospital. He can’t suppress a full body shiver as he tries to shake off the weird sensation.

“Everything okay, Mr Emrys?” DS Godwin asks him.

Merlin clears his throat. “Yes, I’m just… I can see Ar–Arthur’s brake cables were severed. Do you know how?”

“Page three.”

Merlin quickly scans the second page, before turning over to the third. There is a picture of the brake cables after they’d been stripped from Arthur’s car. Merlin feels a chill pass through him as thinks how angry Arthur would have been if he’d been here to see this. His car had been his baby. His pride and joy. And now it had been ruined beyond repair, and to add insult to injury, cut apart and likely sold off as scrap metal. Merlin looks at the picture and reads the report. As he slowly takes in the information, he can feel the blood draining from his face. He looks up at the young detective sergeant.

“Is this true? His brakes were cut?” he asks anxiously.

The officer nods at Merlin. “‘Fraid so. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but until we find out more, we can’t rule out foul play.”

Merlin returns her nod and carries on reading the report. At the back of his mind, he wonders if he ought to be more upset that his best friend may have been murdered. But he’s already been having bad feelings about Arthur’s accident, and with everything he’s been through this week, he isn’t sure he has it in him to be surprised anymore. 

When he’s finished reading it, he puts the report down on the table and glances over his shoulder again. His eyes search the room, but of course there’s only him and DS Godwin there. And there’s no possibility of any unauthorised electronics hanging around. Merlin has written his own little magic spell which ensures that any bugs or surveillance devices will be scrambled the moment they enter the office, unless he has allowed them to function in there. His and Arthur’s computers and phones are all fine, but anything planted by hostile parties won’t work if it’s used inside the circle. Even so, his imagination is seriously starting to freak him out and make him wonder if someone, somehow, has managed to bypass it, because he keeps getting that back-of-the-neck creepy feeling that comes from being observed, and it won’t go away. It’s not the first time he’s felt it when he’s here in the office, either. Something just feels _off_.

“Do you know who could have done it? Who are your suspects?” Merlin asks curiously.

The detective sergeant sighs into her cup. “We were rather hoping _you_ might be able to tell _us_ , Mr Emrys. Did Arthur have any enemies that you’re aware of? Anyone who would have wished him ill, or wanted to harm him?”

Merlin looks down at the file and shakes his head. “No, no one. I mean, was Arthur a bit of a prat sometimes? Yes. Ow!” Merlin flinches as he feels a pang of pain; it’s like he has been zapped with a small electric shock on the back of his neck. He frowns and rubs at the spot with his hand. Static electricity, maybe? “Sorry. But yeah, a bit of a prat, but enough of one to make someone want to do this to him? No, I don’t think so.”

“So, there’s no one who springs to mind then? It doesn’t have to be someone he dealt with professionally; it could be someone he had disagreements with in his personal life.”

Merlin shakes his head. “No. I can’t think of anyone. He gets—um—got on well with all of his friends. He wasn’t speaking to his father, but that was Uther’s doing, not Arthur’s. He disowned him when he realised that Arthur wasn’t going to be his puppet anymore and do everything just as he wanted him to. But obviously, I doubt his father would have wanted him dead.”

DS Godwin nods. “Do you have a list of all the clients you’ve worked with in recent months, Mr Emrys?”

Merlin smirks, raising an eyebrow at her. “Well, that depends on whether you have warrant or not, doesn’t it, DS Godwin.” He sits back in his chair and grins at her. “You see, our clients come to us expecting complete confidentiality. We—I—couldn’t just go and give that information out to everyone who asks. I’m sure you understand.”

She sighs and sifts through some papers in her briefcase before handing one to Merlin. “I had a feeling you might say that. So there you go, a warrant asking for your client and case lists. I think you’ll find it all in order.” She puffs her chest out proudly.

Merlin takes the sheet and looks over it with a frown. Yes, this was definitely legal and above board. “Fine,” he agrees reluctantly. “Just give me until the end of tomorrow and I’ll get a list together for you.” He makes a mental note to remove a few _select_ clients from the list, those whose cases were too obviously solved by magic and to whom Merlin and Arthur had promised complete and utter secrecy. Plus, he can easily leave off the few cases they’d worked pro-bono on, as those were supposed to be off-the-record too. Call Merlin paranoid, but he just doesn’t trust the police with that kind of information, even though they’ve sent this bouncy, friendly Elena Godwin to interrogate him.

She smiles at him and goes to take the file from the desk.

“Oh, yes. Hang on,” he says, and makes a big show of shuffling the papers as he ducks his head and mumbles a quick spell. Then he hands the file back to her, carefully slipping a few new papers under the desk.

The detective sergeant puts the file away in her briefcase and then snaps it shut. When she stands up, she holds out her business card to him. “Here’s my number. Just in case you remember anything that might help. And if you could email me a list of your clients as soon as you’re able to? That would be great!”

“Will do!” he calls as she leaves the office. Once she has gone, blonde ponytail swinging cheerfully in her wake, Merlin sighs and runs a shaky hand through his hair. 

Murder then. Well, that makes things more complicated.

Merlin sits on the sofa in what had been Gwen and Arthur’s flat, waiting for Gwen to grab their tea so that they can go over one of her infamous lists. She deposits the mugs on the coffee table and then sits next to him, placing her notebook on the table and laying it open in front of them.

“Next thing on the list is contacting Uther,” she tells him wearily.

Merlin grimaces. “Better to get it done sooner rather than later, then.”

“Yes,” Gwen agrees. She pats her pockets. “Oh, damn it. I must have left it in the bedroom.”

“Arthur’s phone?” Merlin asks. Gwen confirms with a nod. “I’ll get it. You just sit here and try to relax.”

Merlin pulls himself up from the sofa and heads off towards Gwen and Arthur’s bedroom. He feels like an intruder as he opens the door and glances inside. He rarely went into this room when Arthur was alive; he hadn’t really wanted to. It had been so disconcerting to realise that Arthur had this whole other life with Gwen that Merlin wasn’t a part of, and it’s even weirder now that he’s gone. He hesitantly crosses the threshold and steps inside. It’s quiet, still. Merlin’s stomach lurches as he is reminded of being in the hospital, waiting for news of Arthur all over again. He’ll just find the phone, get out, and then he can forget all about this room’s existence again.

He takes a few steps towards the nightstand, which is clear of items except for a watch that Arthur was fond of and some loose change. So, not there, then. With no small amount of trepidation, he slowly pulls out the top drawer and gives a sigh of relief when he sees Arthur’s phone inside, lying on top of a book and some other odds and ends that Arthur has stashed away in there.

As he goes to pick it up, however, glad he won’t have to sift through Arthur’s more personal items, he hears the sound of something hard and metallic rolling across the floorboards of the room. It stops as it bashes into Merlin’s foot, and he frowns as he bends to pick it up.

Strange.

Arthur’s thumb ring.

Merlin would recognise it anywhere. Arthur had always worn it, as long as Merlin had known him. From what little Arthur had told him about it, the ring had belonged to his mother, Ygraine. Strange that it should be here, rather than in the mortuary with Arthur’s body. A thought occurs to him, and he feels a little sick. With this ring, one of Arthur’s most treasured personal possessions, he could attempt to reanimate Arthur. There has to be a spell for it somewhere. He wonders what would happen if he tried; what would Arthur say to him? Probably to stop being a stupid, sentimental fool and to carry on with his life. Merlin stares at the ring. How did it get here? Arthur never takes it off.

He slips it into his pocket for now, and returns to the front room with the phone in hand.

“Ah, there you are. I was about to send out a search party. I was worried you might have found Narnia in the wardrobe and we’d have to get you out of the...” Gwen’s joke tapers off halfway through. “Not that I was making a joke about you being… you know… I didn’t mean it in an offensive way. I mean, I—” 

“Gwen, it’s fine. I wasn’t offended.”

Merlin places the phone down on the table, in just the same spot that Arthur used to. Merlin’s heart aches at the familiarity of the sight. He can tell Gwen feels similarly from the way she’s just sitting there, staring at it.

“I ‘spose we ought to switch it on,” says Merlin gloomily.

Gwen gives him a watery smile and sets aside her list. Lists are Gwen’s thing. She loves having lists for everything, so it makes sense she would have one for all the things they need to arrange for Arthur’s funeral. Not that she’d love having a list for this. Of course not. But still, the list is good and helpful. Gods, he’s spent so much time with Gwen this week, Merlin is even beginning to sound like her.

She picks up the phone, presses the power button and the screen lights up. Merlin’s throat tightens when he sees the picture of him and Arthur on the background. Gwen sighs as she swipes to unlock it and then opens Arthur’s contacts.

They’re looking for Uther’s number so that they can call and let him know the date of the funeral. Arthur had given strict instructions that Uther was not to be contacted in the event of his death, and Merlin was inclined to honour his wishes given his own experiences with the way the man had treated his son. But in the end, Gwen’s conscience hadn’t allowed for it. She had insisted that Uther should know, as he was Arthur’s father and practically all he had by way of remaining immediate family. But Merlin certainly doesn’t have any contact details, and Arthur had deleted or destroyed anything relating to Uther in his rage after their last fight. Merlin had had to help Arthur apply for a new birth certificate, since he’d even destroyed that, too.

Merlin wonders whether they should let Morgana know too, or if someone would have already told her the news. Had Gwen contacted the facility yet? She might have done in her quest to get Uther’s number. But, much like Arthur, Morgana had ceased to have actual contact with Uther years ago, so perhaps it hadn’t occurred to her. He’ll have to check the list.

A few days before Arthur had died, Morgana had written to him and told him that she was doing better. In fact, she had spoken about how her doctor believed that she was almost ready to be released, and Arthur had been looking forward to seeing her after his and Gwen’s honeymoon. It seems so cruel that the chance to reconnect had been snatched away from them like this. 

“Well?” asks Merlin, watching as Gwen looks through Arthur’s phone.

“Nope. No number for Uther,” she says with a sigh. “You’ve known Arthur longer than me.” She passes the phone to Merlin. “Why don’t you have a look and see if there’s anyone else who would know how to contact his father?”

With a deep sigh, Merlin takes Arthur’s phone from her. It feels strange in his hand, as it always does when holding someone elses phone. And it feels weird and wrong to be doing this, like they’re invading Arthur’s privacy and peering into his inner psyche without his knowledge. He slowly scrolls through the list. He knows pretty much all of Arthur’s contacts, but that doesn’t surprise him. He and Arthur had shared pretty much everything. Still, he’s not sure if any of them will know how to contact Uther, and he is almost to the point of giving up when he suddenly spots a familiar name. It’s even helpfully pre-fixed with “Uncle.”

“Arthur’s uncle—Agravaine,” says Merlin showing Gwen the name. “He’s from his mother’s side, but I know that he and Uther were on speaking terms—well, just barely—back when we were teenagers. Might be a bit of a long shot, but I reckon that’s our best chance at contacting him.”

“Oh,” says Gwen with a frown. She looks very tired all of a sudden. “I don’t know how I missed that. Thank you, Merlin. I’ll call him now. No time like the present.”

“I can do it, if you want,” Merlin offers.

Gwen shakes her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I feel like I need to do it myself, to help me realise that he’s gone.” Her lip begins to tremble a little, and her voice is thick when she goes on. “I feel like he’s going to come walking through that door any second. And I just… I just… I get reminded all over again, and it’s like I forgot. I think that calling people and letting them know, that might be a part of the process towards acceptance.”

Merlin nods. He knows what Gwen means. He experiences the same whenever he spends time at the office, expecting that Arthur will come waltzing in at any moment ready to distract him from whatever he’s working on.

Gwen picks up the phone decisively and then presses call. Merlin listens to the faint sounds of the dialing tone as Gwen waits for Agravaine to pick up.

_"Good morning, this is Agravaine speaking,”_ comes an oily voice. _“Arthur? It’s been so long! How is my favourite nephew?”_

Gwen presses her fingers to her lips. “Oh, um. Agravaine. This is—This is Gwen. Guinevere, Ar—Arthur’s fiancée.” She twists her free hand in the hem of her t-shirt as she talks. “I’m afraid that I have some bad news…” 

_“Oh, not_ too bad _, I hope! What’s Arthur been up to now?”_

“I’m really, really sorry to be the one who has to break this to you... But, um, you might want to sit down. It’s about Arthur. He was in an accident.”

_“The poor lad. Sounds like it was serious,”_ Agravaine’s voice turns sympathetic.

“I—um, yes. Pretty serious—” 

_“Well, if there is anything I can do to help out, Guinevere, I would be happy to assist.”_

“Agravaine, please. If you would just let me finish!” Gwen blurts out.

_“By all means.”_

“Arthur, he— Arthur is dead.” 

There’s momentary silence on the other end of the line, only interrupted by Gwen’s sniffle.

_“Dead? Oh my goodness. My sincere condolences. I am so sorry. That’s terrible news. I must say, I never expected you to say that. Was it—was it a sudden death?”_

Gwen swallows hard and rubs her face with her hand. “The um, the doctors. They say that he—he never regained consciousness after the accident, so it was likely painless for him.”

_“That’s good. I mean to say, it’s good that he went in such a painless way. How are you doing, Guinevere? Can I assist with the funeral at all? Perhaps I can contact some of the family on your behalf,”_ he offers, _“to take some of the strain off of you.”_

“Oh!” says Gwen with surprise. “Well, I had intended on calling them all myself. That’s part of the reason I contacted you—apart from letting you know the news also. I was wondering if you had a contact number for Uther at all.”

_“Yes, I have his mobile number. I still call him and visit occasionally—we are family after all. It was very saddening to hear about his and Arthur’s strained relationship in recent years. I am sure Ygraine would be so crestfallen to hear of such a rift between her husband and son. You know, between you and me... I had always hoped that Arthur and Uther would make things up eventually. I guess it’s too late for that to happen now. This truly must be so distressing for you—such a sudden turn of events.”_

“Yes, it has been rather stressful,” Gwen admits with a deep sigh.

_“Please. Let me make things easier for you. Why don’t you let me contact Uther and Morgana? I will break the news to them as gently as I know how, and that will make it one less thing for you to worry about.”_

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind. It _would_ make things easier,” replies Gwen.

_“It’s no trouble,”_ Agravaine insists. _“And I would be most pleased to help ease this burden for you. Now—I hate to be so practical about things, but do you know when the funeral will be?”_

Gwen proceeds to let Agravaine know about the arrangements for the funeral, and Merlin can almost see the stress lifting from her shoulders. Agravaine may be creepy and unctuous, but if it helps Gwen in any way for him to suck up and take this task off her hands, then all the better.

“Thank you, Agravaine,” she finishes.

_“It’s my pleasure to be of assistance, Guinevere. Have no fear, leave it with me and I will take care of the Pendragon side of the family. I expect I will meet you at the funeral. So sorry that it couldn’t be under better circumstances. And if you have any further need of me, then you have my number, and please know that you only need to ask.”_

Gwen hangs up and places Arthur’s phone down on the table. She rubs tiredly at her eyes.

“Well, that went better than expected,” she says.

Merlin nods and pats her leg. “It’s good that he offered to make those calls,” he agrees. “How are you doing Gwen?” Merlin searches her gaze, looking for her actual response to his question, and her face crumples. Merlin wraps his arm around her to hug her.

“It’s just—it’s been so difficult. I mean, we were supposed to be getting married!”

Merlin holds Gwen close as she sobs quietly and tries his best to soothe her by rubbing a hand up and down her back. He feels terribly for her. No one should have to bury their fiancée, but especially not in circumstances like this, with their last words being angry ones. Merlin has tried to reassure her that Arthur loved her, and that he would have known that she didn’t really mean any of the things she’d said, and he hopes that he’s been a good friend even though he’s suffering through his own form of grief. He’s told himself repeatedly that Gwen comes first. He has no claim on Arthur, despite the things that had happened between them. He was merely the friend. Not Arthur’s lover. Arthur would have wanted it that way.

At length, Gwen pulls away and grabs a tissue from her pocket, using it to wipe at her eyes and blow her nose. “I’m so sorry,” she apologises. “I didn’t mean to cry on you like that.”

Merlin smiles glumly. “It’s fine. I’m really s—” 

“Honestly, Merlin. If you or anyone else says they’re sorry one more time, I think I might scream,” she says, with a slightly hysterical laugh. Then she sighs again and clears her throat. “I’ve been thinking, it might be good for me to get away for a bit. After the funeral, I mean.” Merlin nods at her and she continues, “Not too far, and not for long. Maybe just for a long weekend. But I just need a bit of a change and some fresh air. I’m going to go and visit Elyan in Mercia—I think it would do me good, helping him out with in the forge for a while. It would be like old times with Dad.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” Merlin agrees. Gwen’s always been close with her family, as close to her father as Arthur was distant from his. Tom had been a nice guy and so dependable; Gwen had been devastated by his passing, but it had drawn her and her brother, Elyan closer. Before Tom’s death, Elyan had been a bit of a drifter. Unable to settle down and keep a job for very long, he had never stayed in one place for more than a year or two before he’d quit and head off on another career path again. Their father’s death had changed all that. Elyan had gone and taken over Tom’s blacksmith business out in the countryside, and it had ended up suiting him down to the ground. Gwen had been delighted to see her big brother finally settling down.

“You should go away too, when you can,” she suggests.

“Gwen,” says Merlin warningly. “You know I can’t. The business... I need to be there to keep things going. It was _our_ business, you know? We did so much to get things off the ground, I can’t let all that we worked towards go down the drain.”

Gwen shoots him a sceptical look, but she seems content to leave it be for now.

“Okay,” she says, picking up her notebook. “What’s next on the list?”

It’s raining on the day of Arthur’s funeral, which ironically would have have been his wedding day if he were still alive. In the end, Gwen had decided to go ahead and take advantage of the preparations that had already been made, despite how morbid it seemed, because neither of she nor Merlin could see how delaying the inevitable would make things any easier. Merlin knows that people tend to think of rain on a wedding day as unlucky, but it seems very fitting for today. He shivers as the rain drips down the back of his shirt, creeping under the collar of his jumper and leaving an ice cold trail as it trickles slowly down his back. He wishes that he’d had the foresight to wear something warmer, but really, his clothing had been the least of his concerns that morning.

The last few days have seen Merlin in a state of shock and hyperactivity. Unable to sleep, yet tired. Tired, yet unable to stop himself from working on something, _anything_ , so that he wouldn’t feel the big, aching space where his heart used to be. Merlin had loved Arthur for so long that he didn’t know what to do with himself now that his friend was gone. He _knows_ that Arthur would have been marrying Gwen today, but it had always felt like their bond was so strong, not even Gwen could break it. And that somehow, even though Arthur was to have been Gwen’s husband, there still would have been a part of him that belonged to only Merlin. He had wanted the two of them to be happy together. To live a good life. How had it ended up like this?

Since Arthur’s passing, the office has been closed more often than it’s been open. Merlin can’t bear to be there for more than a few minutes without the comforting presence of Arthur working beside him. He isn’t even sure he has the heart to carry it on at all anymore. Arthur had always been the one with the business acumen, who had known exactly what they needed to do in order to keep themselves afloat. If the finances had been left to Merlin, they would have been out of business almost as soon as they started. He couldn’t bear to say no to people, nor to demand too high a price for their services regardless of their financial situation, and that was where Arthur would step in. He had made sure that they charged a fair amount at a variable rate, based on need and personal circumstances. It had worked well. Merlin wonders how he will cope with that side of things now that Arthur is gone. He can’t afford to hire an accountant, that much he does know. And now, as he’s standing here watching Arthur’s casket get lowered into the ground, it doesn’t feel worth the effort of trying to carry on alone. 

Merlin tries to focus on the vicar’s sermon, but all of a sudden he feels a prickling sensation travel down his spine. Not from cold this time, nor from the rain. It feels like… like he’s being watched by someone. Again. Merlin glances around the small gathering of friends and family standing around Arthur’s graveside, but no one is looking at him as far as he can tell. They are all paying attention to the vicar, who is droning on and on with words that blur into nothingness. He tries to envision Arthur’s reaction them. Merlin had no doubt that Arthur would look over at him with a smirk and a good-humoured grin if he had been here. Arthur had never believed in God, but Gwen had insisted on a small service for his funeral, much like she had wanted a church wedding when Arthur would have been equally happy signing some papers at a registry office and going off somewhere to party afterwards to celebrate. Since Arthur had let Gwen call the shots for their wedding, Merlin figured that he wouldn’t much care about his funeral either. Well, if Arthur were here to express his opinion, of course. Which he isn’t. And that just brings Merlin back full circle again as he bites his lip and stifles a sigh.

Of course, Merlin himself doesn't believe in this new Christian god either, but that doesn't mean he's entirely without faith. He and his mother have celebrated Druidic festivals ever since he was a young boy, something that has always made his magic happy, even when he was too young to understand why. Growing up, his favourite had always been Samhain, when the death of the old year lead into the new and the veil between the worlds was thin. It should have been scary, but as a boy, Merlin had always dreamed of contacting his father at that time of year. It still crosses his mind even now. There’s a spell for it. He’s read it and he’s sure that he could perform it successfully, but his mother and Gaius have both discouraged him from performing it, even outright forbidding him once they’d realised just how powerful he was. With that in mind, he had always steered clear of any enchantments that would summon the dead. Well, at least until he and Arthur had taken their hand to solving crimes. It had been easier to justify the idea when it hadn’t been for a selfish reason. The thought tickles at the back of his consciousness that perhaps he should look into the spells again and try to speak with Arthur. But perhaps that would be selfish too, and he should leave Arthur’s spirit in peace.

There are other festivals to celebrate throughout the year. Imbolc has already passed, but Merlin had made sure to carry out all those small tasks that he had been neglecting throughout the rest of the year, just as his mother always did. He had told everyone he was just spring cleaning, even though it wasn’t quite spring yet. Ostra had come next, and despite his mother’s best efforts, it was practically the same Easter these days. And in a less than a week it will be Beltane. 

Gods. Beltane. Ever since Merlin had become sexually aware, Beltane has become an… interesting experience. On the eve of Beltane, he always experiences the intense desire to rut and mate, to spill his seed deep in another. His magic blazes like fire through his veins, and if he ignores it, as he knows from past experience, it just gets worse and worse. He’s never told a soul about this. It embarrasses him how animalistic he becomes, that he simply can’t control himself. He had always made sure to give Arthur as wide a berth as possible around that time; it had been bad enough dealing with Arthur when his magic _wasn’t_ messing with his emotions. He could do without adding some kind of magic-fueled sex haze into the mix. 

Instead of spending time with Arthur, Merlin would dress up and head out clubbing, where he would find a willing body to help him curb his desire—often the first man who made eye contact. And it’s that feeling, of being observed with intent, that is pressing between his shoulder-blades now, even though he can see no one who might be looking in his direction. 

He scans the graveyard, feeling those invisible eyes boring into him, and for just one second he thinks he can see something white over near the trees. But as soon as he blinks and looks again, whatever it was is gone.

The vicar finally seems to be winding up the service, and Merlin is glad. He just wants this whole thing to be over with. He wants to have a few moments alone with his thoughts and memories of Arthur before they bury him in the cold, wet earth.

Gwen stands next to him, sharing his umbrella, and together they watch until everyone else has left—apart from Gwen’s friend, Sefa, who is holding Gwen’s hand. After several minutes spent just letting the time pass as the water drips and pools on the shiny surface of the new coffin, Merlin lets out a shaky breath. That’s Arthur in there, or at least, what remains of him in this life. Merlin’s not sure about what happens after you die—he hasn’t thought a whole lot about it—but the idea of reincarnation, being reborn again to live a new life full of adventures, appeals to him deeply. He can’t really explain why. He hopes Arthur is out there somewhere, enjoying a fresh start.

Gwen and Sefa step forward and each throw a wad of dirt and a vibrant, red rose on top of the pristine coffin, and Merlin feels his chest tighten as they whisper their tearful goodbyes to Arthur. After a moment’s pause, they move aside to give him room, and Merlin slowly forces his legs to move forward, one after the other, even though he’s not quite sure they will support him. He swallows against the tears that are threatening to fall. He wants to say a last few words to Arthur, who had been Merlin’s entire world for so, so long, but the words just won’t come.

“It was always Merlin and Arthur. They did everything together,” Gwen whispers to Sefa, with such sympathy. ”Poor Merlin.”

“What about you? What about you and Arthur?” Merlin hears Sefa say indignantly, and Merlin feels himself bristle, despite how upset he is.

“I don’t want any pity, Sefa,” Gwen replies.

“Well, maybe Merlin doesn’t want any either,“ points out Sefa. Merlin wants to reach out and throttle her. Doesn’t she have any sympathy at all?

Behind him, he can hear Gwen expressing the same exasperation, disapproval clear in her voice as she whispers back, “Sefa, have some sympathy please! They were best friends—Merlin’s entitled to grieve too! Look, you go on ahead to the wake. I’ll see you later.”

Then he can feel Gwen’s presence at his back as she walks towards him. He hastily scrubs at his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper. He hadn’t bothered to dress up in a suit, much to Gwen’s horror, because he thought that Arthur would just want him to be, well… himself.

“I wasn’t prepared for a funeral,” Gwen says with a sigh, wrapping a comforting arm around Merlin, who pulls her close to his side in return.

“Neither of us were,” says Merlin with a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I should have kept a closer eye on him at the party. I didn’t even realise he’d left.”

“It’s not your fault. I just…” Gwen stifles a sob. “I just keep expecting to see him walking to the flat or coming into the kitchen to annoy me when I’m making dinner..”

Merlin sniffles. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The office—it’s so empty.” He uses his spare hand to brush away a tear that falls.

“Do you think he’s okay?”

“Who, Arthur?” asks Merlin in surprise. “Well, I don’t know. I guess he’s dead, isn’t he? Can’t be much fun in that.”

Gwen looks up at Merlin, taken aback. “You don’t believe in an afterlife then? You don’t think he went to heaven?”

Merlin shrugs. “I don’t think he went anywhere. He just… died. Arthur never believed in a god or life after death, and I imagine you have to believe in heaven to go there. And even if you don’t, I wouldn’t count on Arthur to accept that there is a god now. You know what he’s like when you prove him wrong.” Merlin shakes his head and tuts. “So stubborn sometimes.”

“Oh,” says Gwen, her voice sounding small. “I didn’t know that. Why didn’t he say anything? We’ve been going to church every Sunday for the past three months. I really thought he at least believed in God in some small way.”

Merlin smothers a smile as he recalls how Arthur would text him every Sunday to complain, and Merlin would text him right back, telling him to fuck off and let him enjoy his lovely, lovely lie-in. Sometimes followed up with a selfie cuddling his pillow. Arthur would call him a lazy wanker in return and Merlin would take that as an invitation to be just that: to either fall back asleep, or, if he was too awake, use the time to have a nice Sunday morning wank.

“He just wanted you to be happy, Gwen. He didn’t want to rock the boat.”

She makes a hmph of disagreement. “Well, he should have. What about you, do you believe in a heaven? In God?”

Merlin bites then licks his lip. Well, here goes nothing, he supposes. “I believe that there’s something there after death. That we’re not completely gone forever. So I guess I believe in a sort of afterlife—I mean, how do we explain things like ghosts otherwise? But I’m not sure that it’s what you would call heaven, just a sort of...veil that you go across when you die, and then you don’t come back. And as for _God_...Well, I believe in multiple gods, actually. And goddesses. For different things.”

Gwen looks up at him, wide-eyed and confused. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

Merlin smiles awkwardly and tries to shrug his shoulders as he shoves his hands into his pockets. As he talks, he looks away from Gwen’s enquiring gaze. “I’ve always celebrated the Druid festivals. I thought you already knew that? Arthur teased me about it often enough.”

“Oh!” exclaims Gwen. “I thought you guys were just kidding. Really?”

“Really.”

He waits for her reaction, but eventually Gwen just shakes her head. “Well, between us, we must hope that God and the gods are taking good care of our Arthur, then.”

Merlin sighs and nods. He takes one last look at the coffin, deep beneath his feet and is distracted once again from his thoughts by that same creepy sensation of being watched. “Come on, Gwen,” he says, holding out his hand. “We’d better get going and catch up to the others.”

As they walk away, Merlin glances over his shoulder to take one last look at Arthur’s grave and frowns.

The light is bright. Too bright for Arthur’s eyes. He tries to squint into it, and as he does so, he thinks he can see something. God, is this the afterlife, or heaven, or something? What is he supposed to do? Is he supposed to walk into the light? No way to find out but to actually do it, he realises. So he takes a cautious step forward and has to use his hand to protect his eyes. He takes another step and then another, and suddenly the light starts to fade to a more tolerable level. He blinks as his eyes slowly adjust. As he looks around, he realises he’s standing on a vast plain of… nothingness. There’s not a single thing around him, just a sea of flat white that stretches out endlessly. He turns around and it’s the same behind him. Where is he? This is like no description of heaven he’s ever read. Maybe this is hell then? Arthur shakes his head. He knows he isn’t, no, wasn’t—god, it’s weird thinking of yourself in the past tense—a particularly bad person when he was alive, but he also wasn’t overwhelmingly good either. Is anyone? Is not being an overwhelmingly good person a reason to be sent to hell?

Arthur knows that he’s got his faults and his stubborn tendencies, and there have been times where he’s been mean to someone just because he was hurt or mad at them, or even on occasion because he thought it was funny, though he’s not proud of that now that he’s older. He’s only human after all—well, he _was_ human. Are you still a human once you’ve died? Maybe that’s something he will ask, assuming he can find anyone in this god-forsaken place.

With nothing to do but walk, Arthur starts to do just that. He trudges along for several long minutes, but everything still feels the same. Just as he’s about to give up, he’s sure that he sees some kind of movement in his peripheral vision.

“Hello?” he calls out, his voice echoing across the wide, empty space. He catches the movement again and spins around to try and see what it is. But it’s slipped away. Frustrated, Arthur stops walking. “I know someone is here. Show yourself!” he commands, with a voice that echoes with power throughout the ages.

There’s a tinkling laugh that twirls and twists in the air around him, like tiny bells chiming in the wind, and a warm current of air wafts gently towards him, tousling his hair. As Arthur inhales, he can smell the sweet scent of wild flowers, of morning dew and wet earth teasing about him, as though the very essence of life is all around him.

And then he can smell something that just seems familiar, though for the life of him, he cannot place it. It is crisp and clean, like fresh linen, and so very warm and comforting. He can feel someone watching him, and as he turns there is a petite woman standing there. And she’s so young, so very young.

“Mother?” he asks. The word escapes unbidden from his lips with a sob. He doesn’t know how, or why, but he recognises her. He _knows_ her.

She smiles at him, and it’s as though everything in his life is perfect and right. Her hair hangs in loose curls around her face, as bright as the sun. Her eyes are the clearest blue, just like his, and her face is delicate and beautiful, like a painting. As he watches Ygraine, her white dress fluttering and billowing around her, Arthur can understand just how much his father loved her. How much he still loves her, to this very day. 

“My son!” She rushes to him and wraps her arms around him. “Oh, Arthur.” She pulls away and holds his face in her hands, her head tilted up as she examines him. “When I last held you, you were a tiny baby. I remember your eyes. You were staring up at me, then; now you’re staring down.” She smiles at him. “Those few seconds I held you were the most precious of my life.”

Arthur has to blink back tears, and with difficulty he swallows against the raw emotion that threatens to overwhelm him. “I’m sorry,” he rasps.

Smiling, his mother places a kiss to his forehead. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“B–but, it’s because of me that you died,” Arthur says. “I can’t bear the thought that you died because of me.”

It’s true. It’s a burden that Arthur has carried with him, deep in his soul, his entire life. He’s never told anyone else, but it was there, and he felt it every time his father was sad. Every time he found himself envious of another child being comforted by their mother. Every Mother’s Day that came and went, where a voice in his head whispered to him; _’You don’t deserve to have a mother. You killed her with your selfishness. You’re not deserving of love, or kindness, or compassion. You’re a murderer.’_

“Arthur, you are not to blame,” Ygraine insists as she strokes his face. “I knew there were risks and a big chance of complications from the very start. I knew what I was doing, and so did your father, though he begged me to reconsider. But Arthur. My dear, dear boy, I gave my life for yours willingly, gladly. And I’m so, so proud of you and the young man you’ve become.”

As Arthur looks at her, he lets out a shuddering gasp and swipes his hand at his face to stop the tears that traitorously threaten to fall from his eyes. _His mother_ , this was his _mother._ And she gave her life gladly for his. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. She’s warm, so cosy and soft, just like a mother should be. As he presses his face into that silky, golden hair he can smell the subtle scent of roses. He lets out the sob that had been stuck deep in his chest, a release for all that guilt and sadness that he had built up in his heart and mind. Hearing his mother say that it wasn’t his fault, that she knew there were risks with her pregnancy, meant _everything_ to him. He had been a baby and couldn’t have helped being conceived, much less born. But without a grown up to sit down and comfort him, to tell him that he wasn’t to blame—Uther had never been a very attentive father at the best of times, and he’d had even less time and patience for Arthur when he had been emotional—he’d never learnt another way. He had taken the onus on himself, even though he knew logically that it wasn’t his fault.

Ygraine wraps her arms around him and squeezes him gently, but firmly. “That’s it, my boy, my precious, dear boy. It’s okay, it’s okay.” She rubs her hands up and down his back. “Let it out and let it go. This isn’t your burden to carry anymore, Arthur.”

As she pulls away and smiles up at him, she smooths his hair back from his forehead. “How big you have grown,” she says wistfully. “I missed so much, and yet, I would rather that than never having had you at all.”

Arthur smiles at her through his tears as they clasp hands again. “Mother,” he says, proud that his voice falters only slightly on the word. “Can you help me? Can you tell me where I am? What this,” he gestures to the vast emptiness around them, “is?”

“It is the void, Arthur. And I am afraid that I cannot help you, for this as far as I can go. I cannot go beyond the veil.”

“The veil?” Arthur asks.

“The veil between life and death. I have been dead for too long; I can no longer see past it, much less cross it. I have no unfinished business. I am at peace with my life choices. But you, Arthur, I am afraid that you do have unfinished business—that is why you cannot cross the void. But you must act fast, my son. You have until the next full moon; if you have not resolved it by then, the veil will be closed to you.”

“Unfinished business? What does that mean?” asks Arthur, as his mother lets her hand slip from his. “What happens if I don’t finish it?”

Ygraine starts to draw away from him, a warm breeze eddying around them. As she speaks, her voice starts to become faint.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. That is for you to decide, I cannot help you with this, my son. But know that I will always be with you—” She reaches out a ghostly hand and touches his chest. “—here, in your heart.”

With that, she begins to recede, like a tide washing out to sea. “I love you, Arthur…” she says, her voice faint and echoing in the emptiness that surrounds him, until she is finally gone, and Arthur finds himself alone once again.

It’s late. Way too late. Merlin had locked the door to the office and turned off the computers ages ago; all that remains is a single lamp, illuminating the desk where he sits with his head slumped forward and his hand wrapped around a glass of scotch.

They had buried Arthur today. He’s gone. He’s really, really gone. Gods, _murdered_. Who the hell would want to murder Arthur? Merlin knows he’s had too much to drink, and he probably ought to stop. But then again, why does he really need to? There’s no one who would really miss him now, if he were to drink his way into oblivion. Well—except his mum. But she’d understand, right? She would. She’d understand that without Arthur by his side, laughing at him, teasing him, it wouldn’t really be much of a life worth living. He isn’t even sure if he can keep the business afloat for more than a few months on his own before it comes crashing down around him. 

He goes to refill his glass, but the bottle is empty. He makes a derisive sound and waves a hand, summoning a new one without so much as leaving his seat. He’s not sure he can keep _anything_ going without Arthur, but he has to try. This place is all he has left: his name along with Arthur’s on the door, the office where they’ve whiled away so many hours together, all those memories of working, messing around, playing games to pass the time. Gods… Merlin’s never going to get to do those things again.

Merlin’s heart pounds painfully in his chest, as though it doesn’t belong there; as though it was meant to beat for Arthur and Arthur alone. Even though Arthur had never shown any sign of returning his feelings, barring that one strange night in Barcelona that they have never ever spoken about, there had been an awkward tension between the two of them sometimes, on those occasions when they realised that they had been staring at each other for a bit _too long_ for platonic best friends. Maybe Merlin had been reading more into their shared history than he should have. It had always been nice to have Arthur’s friendship, to know that the other man would come to him and confide in him things that he never even told Gwen, and Merlin had tried to content himself with that. But there had always been a part of him that had hoped that maybe, somewhere deep down, Arthur had felt towards him the way he felt towards Arthur. That Arthur might one day return his feelings. But neither of them had ever broached the subject. And now they never could.

Merlin lifts his head and downs the whisky in one. Not bothering to pour another, he lets his head drop to the desk again with a thud. No more Arthur. Arthur was dead. Deader than a parrot pining for the fjords, he thinks, snickering to himself. Oh Gods. It feels like someone has stuck their hand in his chest and ripped his heart out, and if he feels this way when the two of them were just friends, for once, Merlin is thankful that Arthur had never wanted anything more. Because how much worse would Merlin be feeling if he had? How must Gwen be feeling? She was practically married to Arthur, after all. Merlin should call her when she gets back from visiting Elyan, let her know he’s there for her. But for now, she probably just wants some space. And Merlin has nothing _but_ space, he thinks morosely. He gazes sadly at Arthur’s empty desk. What he wouldn’t do to see Arthur sitting there, pouting at him. The office feels so cold without him in it.

What is he going to do without Arthur? Getting wasted is all well and good for a time, and it certainly helps with the pain, but he can’t stay drunk forever. _Or can you…?_ whispers the voice in his head. It might be actually be a good idea. It might all be less painful and more fuzzy around the edges that way.

The funeral had been so weird, so surreal. He still can’t really process it all. He remembers watching Arthur’s coffin being lowered into the grave, his vision blurry through unshed tears. And there had been that strange feeling he’d had for much of the service, the one that had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand end and shivers travel down his spine. He had tried to stave off his own tears and comfort Gwen, who had been so quiet and composed that Merlin wonders whether she might still have been in a state of shock over it all. It was a bit fucked up that they had buried Arthur on the same day that the two of them were supposed to get married—all right, it was a LOT fucked up, but it couldn’t be helped. Gwen had insisted she was okay with it; she was the one who had insisted that they go ahead, and Merlin had agreed at the time. It had made good logical sense when they had been planning things. But maybe, on reflection, it hadn’t been such a good idea.

Either way, wedding or funeral, Merlin is sure that he was destined to be here, in his and Arthur’s office, spending this evening alone with a nothing but a nice, kind, _reliable_ bottle of alcohol to help numb the pain of his broken heart.

It’s going on two in the morning by the time Merlin grunts and pushes himself to his feet. He staggers over to the coffee machine, almost falling over. He supposes that he’d better at least try and sober up before he goes to bed. Not that he’s entirely sure he will make it home, but waking up without a nightmare of a hangover would definitely be appreciated. As he sits back down with his coffee, he opens his laptop and starts Netflix. Hopefully binge-watching something will help to distract him from this awful sense of loss, at least until he manages to fall asleep.

Merlin sits back to watch his chosen show when the picture suddenly pauses. He rolls his eyes and leans forward to tap on the space bar. _WiFi glitches_. He settles back into his office chair again, but just when he’s nice and comfortable, the programme stops once more.

“God damn it.”

Merlin presses the space bar for a second time, and the programme unfreezes, only to pause again almost immediately. He lets out a frustrated huff, and then his eyes widen as he watches the music player open itself on the screen. As the music starts to play he recognises the first few bars of what Arthur had claimed was his favourite song, the one he used to play to annoy Merlin every time they were in the car together. What on earth… how had that happened? And why _that_ song? Merlin bites his lip against a nauseous feeling that is curling in his gut, and for once he knows it isn’t a result of the alcohol he’s been consuming. He has a sneaking suspicion that he knows what’s going on.

At that moment, something light and soft hits the side of his head, and Merlin jumps. In his tipsy state, it takes him a while to focus on just what it is that struck him. A rolled-up piece of paper is lying on the floor between his and Arthur’s desks. He frowns and looks over at Arthur with a glare when he feels another piece of paper hit his head.

“Quit it,” he murmurs, brushing his head where the paper just smacked into him. Then he squints and concentrates. Arthur is sitting in his chair, dressed from head to toe in a white suit, looking quizzically at him. “Arthur?” Merlin slurs.

“Took you long enough,” replies Arthur with a smirk.

Merlin bolts upright and feels himself sober up with remarkable, almost magical, quickness. “Oh my god, Arthur? Is it—is it really you?”

“Who else would be hanging around here whilst you drink yourself silly, you idiot?” Arthur looks pointedly at the half-empty bottle on Merlin’s desk.

“But—” Merlin stops short. He knows what he wants to say, but his tongue feels heavy and his senses are dulled, and he can’t quite get the words to come out the way he wants them to. “No.” He shakes his head resolutely. “No, no. I’m just imagining this. It’s not—not real. You’re not real.” He waves a wildly swinging arm in the direction of Arthur’s desk. He’s still there though, despite Merlin’s ranting. “You can't be here. In fact, you’re not here. You know why?” Merlin hates the way his voice has begun to waver. “Because you—you're—” 

“Dead?” supplies Arthur. He is sitting with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised, as though trying his best to be patient. “Yeah, that really hurt.”

Merlin tilts his head and tries looking at Arthur from a different angle. But nope, he’s still there, still looking as lovely and wonderful as he always has.

“How do I know that you’re actually here, for real?” asks Merlin.

Arthur sighs. “Aren’t you the one who was always trying to convince me there are things out there that we can’t comprehend with the human mind? Things like ghosts? I _distinctly_ remember you telling me you’ve seen ghosts before.”

Merlin swallows uneasily. “That’s because I have. Ever since—ever since I was a kid. I used to—But that doesn’t mean that you’re not just a figment of my imagination.” Maybe he’s so desperate to not be without Arthur that his mind has started to play tricks on him. It could happen.

“Ask me something then. Something that only I would know.”

“But that’s a silly question,” says Merlin, pointedly. “If you’re a figment of my imagination, then you’ll know exactly the same things I know. You can’t catch me out like that, Arthur.”

Arthur sighs and throws his hands up in the air. “Well then, what the hell am I supposed to do to prove that I am real?”

Merlin shrugs his shoulders and reaches out a hand towards the scotch again. “I dunno.” He pours a glass and sighs. He is nowhere near drunk enough to be arguing with his own subconscious right now. Sure, he knows that there is life after death, in a sense. He’s brought a few poor souls back momentarily from the afterlife, even, but he can’t seem to reconcile Arthur being dead with the idea of Arthur returning as a ghost. It seems just as likely that he wants Arthur back so badly that he’s imagining him, or...A paralysing feeling of dread sits heavy in his stomach as he wonders whether, perhaps, he might have summoned Arthur into existence again just through sheer force of will. And magic.

“I don’t know what I can tell you to convince you, Merlin, but it is me. I promise that it is,” Arthur says. “We’ve always done stuff together, ever since Year Eight when I tripped you over in front of Mr John’s class and you called me an arse for it. We even managed to convince our parents to take each other on family holidays, so that we wouldn’t have to be apart for _even a day_. And then after—after we were sixteen and—and—” Arthur pauses as he looks over at Merlin, who makes a strangled noise and can feel himself turning bright red. “Believe it’s me yet?” Arthur asks.

Merlin stares at him in disbelief. Fuck. This is just so typically _him_. They had never come even the slightest bit close to talking about that night in Barcelona, let alone admitting that it had actually happened, when Arthur was alive, and now that Arthur’s dead it’s suddenly the first thing that he wants to talk about. Ugh. Merlin could just throttle him, if he weren’t already a ghost that is. “We—we’ve never t–talked about that.”

Arthur nods at him, and Merlin reaches for his bottle of scotch again. If they’re going to discuss this, he’s going to need to add a lot more alcohol to his glass. 

“Oi, don’t you think you’ve had enough of that?” 

Merlin ignores Arthur and takes sip, revelling in the way it burns as it goes down his throat. It helps to confirm that this is very much not a dream. Maybe, if he’s careful, he can just do what they’ve always done and pretend it will go all away by changing the subject. “Look, Arthur. I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but why are you here? Why are you showing yourself to me?”

Arthur looks over at him, a grim expression on his face that Merlin rarely saw when he was alive. “Because I want to catch the son of a bitch that cut my brakes.”

Merlin shakes his head and purses his lips. “I can’t help you with that. That’s police business.”

“Fuck the police,” Arthur cries. He goes to strike his fist on the desk, but it passes seamlessly through the wood, and Arthur himself almost follows. 

“Oh god. You _are_ a ghost,” says Merlin, looking at him with fascination He gets up from his chair and walks over to him. Arthur glares at him, standing straighter.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you all along,” he says. Merlin circles him and raises a shaky hand towards the translucent body, deciding to risk a tiny poke to Arthur’s side. He watches with amazement as his finger goes straight through it, clearly passing through the boundary of whatever it is that forms Arthur’s body. God, he’s “touching” a ghost. If you can call it that.

“Oi! That’s my… body, I guess.”

“Can you feel it?” asks Merlin curiously.

“I’m a ghost, Merlin, of course I can’t bloody well feel it. But that doesn’t mean that you should do it. At least have s—” Merlin pokes at him again, “—ome respect for me.” 

Merlin ignores Arthur’s protests for a minute and lets himself feel with his magic. He wants to know what it is that has allowed Arthur to come back. What it is that he’s actually made of. It’s certainly nothing of the corporeal realm, and when is the next time he’s going to be able to get this close to a ghost again? 

He dips his head and closes his eyes, letting his magic flow freely. Yes, that’s it. He can feel it: magic. There is a thin layer of it surrounding Arthur, holding him together in human form. Merlin guesses this must be why he can see Arthur, and why he’s been able to see other ghosts too. But why now? Why hasn’t he been able to see Arthur from the moment he died? 

As his thoughts start to clear, he remembers all the strange things that have happened to him since the day that Arthur was killed. That weird moment at the hospital where his magic had fizzed and burned inside him. The presence he thought he’d seen out of the corner on his eye in the waiting room, the voice he thought he’d been mistaken in hearing. The feelings at the funeral. The feelings he’s been having ever since then, that maybe there was something more going on. It makes him feel queasy, but as he summons his magic back to himself, he raises his eyes and looks up at Arthur.

“Arthur, how long have been here?”

“Ever since you reeled into the office and started drinking yourself into an early grave,” Arthur replies promptly.

“And you haven’t tried to contact me before then?” asks Merlin, tilting his head. “Not, say, at the hospital? Or at your funeral?”

Arthur makes a noise that sounds halfway between anger and exasperation. “You mean that you could see me all that time and you never said anything?” he exclaims. “Oh, I am going to _kill_ you…”

“Woah, woah!” says Merlin, backing away and raising his arms, forgetting that there’s no way Arthur can actually hurt him. “I couldn’t. I _didn’t_ see you. At least, not like I can now. I just thought that I was seeing things out the corner of my eye and hearing things that weren’t actually there. I was grieving, Arthur. Grief does weird things to people. I thought that maybe I was going a bit crazy or something. I wasn’t ready to admit to myself that you were really dead.”

They’re quiet for a length of time, considering this.

Merlin is the first one to break the silence. “Do you want me to tell Gwen?” he asks. “I mean, surely she has the right to know that you’re back?”

Arthur looks at him, surprised. “I... hadn't really thought about it,” he confesses slowly. He pauses for a while, and a range of emotions play across his face before he finally continues speaking. “I don't know if we should. It might scare her.”

“Oh, but it's okay to scare me is it?” says Merlin, sarcastically. “Yes, don’t worry about Merlin. He’ll be _fine_.”

Arthur grins and chuckles at him. “You're different. You like all that spooky, Wiccan, pagan-y stuff. It's half the reason we even have this business in the first place. All those weird people that you deal with on the side.” Now it's Merlin's turn to look at him with shock. “Oh, you don't think I didn't notice you putting them through the books, do you?” exclaims Arthur with disbelief. He lists them off mockingly. “Missing cats, lost glasses and necklaces, house visits for security assessments. Just how stupid did you think I was, Merlin? I've known you had this Spooky Mulder thing going on for ages now. I just wish you would have told me about it.” 

Merlin frowns. He’d had no idea that Arthur had noticed him sneaking off to take care of their more supernatural cases on his own. He had never dared to risk revealing his magic, not being quite sure how Arthur would have taken it. 

“I wanted to tell you, but I wasn’t sure how to explain. You’ve never believed in things like ghosts and hauntings, possessions, cursed objects and all those other kinds of things—which, by the way, is ironic as _hell_ —and so I decided to try and deal with them myself. I knew you would laugh at them and dismiss it as pointless and silly.”

“But it is—” Arthur begins. He’s cut short when Merlin snorts out loud and pointedly looks him up and down. “All right, so _maybe_ it’s not all nonsense after all.”

Merlin flops down in his chair. “We need to find out why you’re here,” he says, pulling his mobile out of his pocket.

“Who are you calling?” asks Arthur, looking over his shoulder. The way he suddenly appears there makes Merlin jump, and he presses his hand to his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. 

“God,” he says. “Don’t do that. Or at least, warn me first!”

Arthur nods insistently at the phone in Merlin’s hand. “Are you going to call Gaius?” he asks.

With a sigh, Merlin finds Gaius’s number and hits the call button, holding it up so that Arthur can see the screen. Gaius doesn’t answer, however, so Merlin hangs up and shrugs at Arthur. “No answer,” he says, stating the obvious. “I guess it is pretty late.”

“It’s okay. We don’t really need him anyway. What we need to be doing is looking over our current and maybe even past cases, to see who the hell wanted me dead. Do you still have the files that I got last week from Jonas Wentworth’s office? Let’s look at those first.”

“Aaaarthuuuur,” moans Merlin, drawing his name out. “Do we really have to do this _now_?”

Arthur shoots him an evil look. “Yes, we have to do this now. You don’t know how it feels to know someone wanted you dead and actually succeeded. Now, come on. Help me with this. Please?”

“Oh, a please? Now I _know_ it’s not really you.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Later, in the early hours of the morning, when he is curled up in his bed with a bowl and regretting all of his recent life choices, Merlin reflects on the past few hours. Arthur isn’t dead—well, he is, but he isn’t gone. Merlin had been able to see him, standing there in the office as if he’d never left. But how and why has Arthur come back? Arthur had told him that he’d been given until the next full moon to solve his unfinished business before he could pass through the veil to the other side. But he had remained resolutely silent on exactly who or what had told him that, and Merlin has to admit, he’s worried. So many days have already passed since Arthur died. They don’t have a huge amount of time left until the moon completes its cycle. What will happen to Arthur if they can’t figure this out in time? Merlin doesn’t think he could take losing him again.

He had been pretty useless last night after all the alcohol he’d imbibed, but even so, Arthur had insisted that they at least made a start on figuring out who murdered him. He had told Merlin his side of the story, and they had tried to look over the case notes that Merlin had magically gleaned from DS Godwin. Finally, when Merlin could no longer manage to keep his eyes open, they had called it a night, and Merlin had grabbed a taxi home so that he could sleep, agreeing to come back in the morning so that they could start working flat out on the case.

He wonders if he ought to tell Gwen, and if so, how to do it. She should know really. If he were in her position, he’d want to know. Merlin understands that it would be difficult for the average person to believe—he’s even having trouble with it, and he’s had experience with life beyond death—but Gwen would come around, he’s sure. And who wouldn’t want the chance to talk with a dead loved one again? Sometimes Merlin thinks he’d do anything to speak to his father, who had died a few months before he’d even been born.

Merlin rolls over onto his back, ignoring the way his stomach lurches and churns at the movement. He’s not sure how he feels about the whole Arthur-being-a-ghost thing. In a way, it’s great. Arthur hasn’t really gone anywhere. But on the other hand, it’s bad, because _Arthur hasn’t really gone anywhere_. Last night, Arthur had spent half the time wittering on about unfinished business, but what does that mean exactly? Because if Merlin knows anything about magic—and he’s gleaned a fair amount of knowledge from Gaius, his books, and the Druid community in general over the years—it’s that you need to be extremely precise about these things. And if all Arthur knows is that he has to deal with some ‘unfinished business,’ then he’s not sure exactly how they’re going to figure it all out. 

Fortunately, however, he at least has some idea where they can start. He needs to go and speak to Gaius—in private, preferably. He’ll have to come up with an excuse to escape at some point today, once they’ve made some headway with all the information they’ve acquired and established some kind of timeline of all the suspicious events leading up to Arthur’s murder. But that will all happen in the morning—or rather, much, much, _much_ later in the morning, when the world has stopped spinning and Merlin can move without feeling like he is going to puke his guts out. Merlin squints at his phone, sets the alarm for mid-day, and then drifts back off to sleep.

A few hours later, Merlin is woken with a start.

“Get up, you lazy idiot!” yells Arthur, directly into his ear.

“Arthur!” Merlin protests, swiping a hand out at Arthur, only to have it pass straight through him. He buries his head under his pillow. “G’way an’ leave me ‘lone.”

“ _Mer_ lin!” calls Arthur, in his typical demanding manner, and Merlin knows that if it weren’t for the fact that Arthur’s a ghost now, he’d be yanking the pillow off Merlin’s head or giving him a swift jab to the gut to emphasise his point.

“Mnfph!”

It’s strange the way he can still feel Arthur’s presence looming over him. “You said we’d pick up where we left off in the morning, you useless toad. It’s almost midday now. Come on. Get up and dressed. You might be happy to laze around in bed all day, but for me the clock is ticking!”

Merlin freezes and pulls his head out from under the pillow. “Shit.” He’d completely forgotten about that. He sits up, his duvet bunched around his waist, to find Arthur eyeing him tentatively, his gaze resting on Merlin’s hips. 

“Oh my god—Are you naked?”

Merlin rubs his face with his hand. It’s way too early to be dealing with this. It’s definitely too early to deal with Arthur standing there, looking bewildered by the fact that when he’s not around Merlin might like sleeping in the buff. “Arthur. Just go. Away!” Merlin exclaims, gathering the blankets around himself. Still looking poleaxed, Arthur finally complies.

Once he’s showered and dressed, Merlin walks into the kitchen and his heart almost thumps right out of his chest. Standing over by the long, tall window, shimmering in the midday sun, is Arthur. If it weren’t for the fact that he looks almost translucent right now, Merlin would think that he was really actually standing there in the flesh, waiting and thinking as he often did when he came over to Merlin’s flat. 

Arthur. God. And he didn’t even realise how beautiful he was. When he was alive, he had just swaggered around having fun, making everyone he met him look up to him. Why was he like that? How could he have been so unaware of the effect he had on people? And why can’t Merlin stop loving him, even now that he’s dead? Merlin clears his throat and his breath hitches as Arthur turns towards him, the sun turning his ethereal hair a burnished gold for a few moments as though it were a halo. Merlin isn’t sure he can do this. Living without Arthur is something he might have learnt to do over time, eventually. But living with him when he is dead? Merlin’s not sure he’s up for the task. Especially at times like this, when Arthur’s beauty causes him a physical ache. He finds himself subconsciously rubbing his chest with his fist. 

Arthur claps his hands together and follows Merlin when he passes on his way to the coffee machine. “So, the office then?” he asks hopefully.

“Ugh, no. Need coffee,” complains Merlin, slapping a new coffee pod into the machine and hitting a button. He puts two slices of bread in the toaster and pushes the lever down. Then he turns to face Arthur. “Look, I know you want to figure out who could have murdered you, but you’re just going to have to wait until I’m feeling more human. Okay? Then we’ll go back to the office.”

Arthur nods at him, a scowl on his face as he relents. But that doesn’t stop him from spending the rest of breakfast staring mutinously at Merlin whilst he eats his toast. It would be completely off-putting if Merlin hadn’t known Arthur for as long as he has. Several years of exposure to that particular expression makes it much easier to ignore, even if Arthur looks adorable when he’s pouting. Merlin opens his laptop and sends off his promised client list to DS Godwin whilst he eats, ignoring Arthur entirely, then answers a few of his emails.

When he’s finished with his coffee and toast, Merlin brushes the crumbs from his t-shirt and grins at Arthur. “Okay, ready to go?” he asks, a little too innocently.

Arthur glares daggers at him. “Finally!”

Merlin drums his fingers on his desk, propping his head up with his other hand as he watches the code scroll on his laptop screen. This is the third decoding programme he’s used now. He’d noticed last night when they were looking through the contents of the cloned USB that the amount of data on the drive did not match up to the files they’d been able to retrieve. That was suspicious.

They’ve also been trying to hunt down the actual owner of Blackwater Industries, using the pertinent information in some of the files that were more easily unencrypted. Merlin is hoping that once they get access to whatever is hidden on the USB, they’ll have something more to go on. So far they’ve been able to find several subsidiaries, all of which proved to be dead ends, and it’s only now, whilst Merlin’s been waiting for his decrypting programmes to finish running, that he’s managed to locate what he _thinks_ is the real parent company. He’s poking around the website when a familiar sight catches his eye.

“Arthur,” he calls. “You might want to come and look at this.” 

Arthur peers over Merlin’s shoulder, and Merlin shudders for a moment at the chill. “What am I looking at?” Merlin points at the header of the website, which reads: Essetir Enterprises. “I don’t follow.”

Merlin sighs and clicks through to the “Meet Our Advisors” page and scrolls down. “See anyone you recognise?”

There on the screen, is a picture of Agravaine, Arthur’s uncle. Merlin has never liked him, and he can’t help finding this a bit suspicious. Sure, it could just be a coincidence… but it seems a far-fetched one.

“That’s my uncle,” Arthur points out, stating the obvious.

“Yep, and I wonder why he would be working for the parent company of all these subsidiaries? Blackwater Industries, Wentworth Industries, Lot Auctioneers, Jarl Enterprises,” says Merlin counting them off on his fingers. “I mean, they all look pretty legit from what I can tell, but… I don’t know. I just have a bad _feeling_ about them. Some of the things they’re doing just don’t seem to make sense.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You and your feelings, Merlin. Honestly. If my UNCLE is working there, then I’m sure they’re legit. I think we’re barking up the wrong tree here. He wouldn’t be doing anything underhanded. And why would he want to hurt me? I’m the only family he has.”

“Arthur,” says Merlin. “Agravaine is a snake. And the trail leads here. All of those other companies are in some way connected to Essetir. So they have to be involved somehow.”

“That doesn’t mean my uncle knows anything about it. He might be a bit... standoff-ish, a bit self-serving, but he’s not a _criminal_!” 

“Then let’s prove it,” says Merlin, trying to reason with him. “We should go and check them out.”

“No. It’s not necessary. My uncle would never involve himself in something illegal. Check the files again. Your information must be wrong.”

A box flashes up on laptop, indicating that the encryption programme is done. Merlin rolls his eyes at Arthur and pulls it towards him. This programme is a bit more sophisticated than the other ones he’s used, and it appears to have finally been successful. He opens a few of the newly revealed folders and checks the files. They seem to contain similar information to the earlier ones from the Wentworth Industry books: lists of bank account details and clients, some of which are named, many of which are not. But sure enough, they’re the files for Essetir Enterprises. But why would they conceal the identity of some clients and not others? Very strange. 

At Arthur’s request, Merlin has tried to track Geoffrey Monmouth’s money through the Wentworth Industries books. He can see where the money was received, and some hefty returns on the funds for several months (no wonder Geoffrey was asking after it), but the investment itself had been transferred out to multiple accounts, none of which were Essetir subsidiaries. So what exactly is going on? Where did the money go? Was it even invested anywhere? Merlin is dubious about it. But does he dare raise it with Arthur again?

“What is it?” Arthur asks, studying Merlin’s face. “What have you found?”

Merlin closes the lid of the laptop. “Nothing.”

“Merlin, you are the world’s worst liar. Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” Merlin insists. “Just more of the same. Why don’t we look into who was at the party? That’s the line of questioning that the police will be following, so we should look into it too. This stuff with Wentworth Industries… it’s probably nothing. Of no relevance to your murder. We should just forget about it.”

“Merlin, if you don’t tell me I will haunt you until the end of your days.”

“You already are,” Merlin mumbles mutinously. 

Arthur motions for him to open the laptop again, so he does with a sigh. Arthur moves to look at the screen.

“Essetir? Why do some of the accounts have numbers and others don’t? Can we find out where the accounts are held, something that might give us some more clues as to who owns them?”

“I’ll look into it. Arthur, I still think that your uncle might—” 

“Merlin… I know I said we’re best friends. But if you keep persisting that my _family_ , my _mother’s_ family could be involved in this… Well, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Ooh, scary. And you’ll do what exactly?” says Merlin, losing patience. “Agravaine is a slimy, oily, condescending—!”

“I don’t have to stand here and listen to this!” Arthur snarls as he lurches towards Merlin. Merlin flinches, but has no time to react as Arthur passes right through him and almost falls flat on his face.

He turns around, and Merlin can’t help but snicker at him. Arthur growls at him and launches himself at Merlin again. This time, he does fall flat on his face, and then clear through the office floor. 

Merlin stops laughing abruptly when Arthur falls through him and then straight down into the ground, his ethereal form dispersing into smoke. He drops to his knees and presses his hands to the floor. “Arthur?” he calls. “Arthur? Come on, this isn’t funny. Come back.”

There’s no answer. Merlin closes his eyes and tries to feel for him, pushing out with his magic, but all he can sense through the concrete of the floor are the root systems of the nearby trees and plants outside from the street and background hum of millions of insects churning up the soil. No Arthur. Merlin sits back on his heels, confused, and tries his best not to panic. If Arthur isn’t here, then where the hell is he? He’d spent last night in Merlin’s front room watching White Collar because Merlin could set it to keep playing episodes, and the two of them haven’t spent more than a few minutes apart ever since he’s been back. But if he’s not in the office or somewhere nearby, he could be anywhere. 

Or nowhere at all. Merlin’s not sure how all of this works, or how Arthur had even managed to come back after he’d died. Maybe he’s passed over now or been pulled back to wherever people go after they die. Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the last time Merlin will ever see Arthur again, and that silly argument will be the last words they ever say to each other. A cold fear clenches around Merlin’s heart. Maybe Arthur is just _gone_. 

He snatches up his keys off the desk and rushes out of the office, wondering where he should check first. Unlocking the car, he clambers in and tries to think. Right now, the mental list of he has of Arthur’s potential destinations consists of: Merlin’s own flat, Arthur’s flat he’d shared with Gwen or possibly even Uther’s house. Where else could he check? Maybe his favourite restaurants, coffee places, Leon’s place? Merlin realises that he’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly that it’s starting to hurt, and he tries to pull himself together. No, he needs to be calm. He won’t panic until he’s absolutely sure that Arthur is gone.

When Arthur comes back to consciousness, he finds himself back in the same blank nothingness that he went to when he had first died. How has he ended up here again? He gets up from the floor and spins around to catch anyone who might be lurking. A part of him is secretly hoping that this means he will get to see his mother again.

“Hello?” he calls loudly into the vacant space. “Are you there?”

There’s a warm gust of wind that seems to come from every direction at once, bringing with it the familiar smell of wild flowers, and suddenly she’s there, standing right in front of him “Yes, my son. I’m here.”

“Mother, why am I here?” he asks.

“Because you’re running out of time. You need to resolve your unfinished business, and soon.”

He frowns at her. “But I don’t understand, what is my unfinished business? What do I need to do?”

She sighs and holds his hands in hers. “I want to help you, my dearest Arthur. But it is not for me to say. It is enough that they let me be the one to greet you; they will not allow me to do more.”

“How much time do we have, before I have to leave again?” he asks her. “There are so many things I want to ask you.”

She looks sad and shakes her head. “Not long, Arthur. But I will answer what I can.”

Arthur stares at her, his heart racing as wonders what he should ask first. He had never in his life thought that he’d have the opportunity to actually know his mother, and he doesn’t know where to start.

He licks his lips and starts to speak. “There’s so much that I missed out on. I just–I want to get to know you. Can you—C-can you tell me a bit about you, something that happened to you when you were younger?” Arthur knows that it’s childish and he’s way too old for tales of this kind, but his father was never much for bedtime stories and when he did read to Arthur, it had always been something straight-laced and educational. Arthur’s sure that his father was trying his best, but he’s always felt like he missed out on so much by not having a mother. Once he had met Merlin, Hunith had taken him under her wing, and she had been—and still is—a wonderful, caring person. But she’s not _his_ mother.

Ygraine smiles. “Sit,” she says, gesturing to a white sofa that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“Where did that…?” Arthur says, looking around again. “How did you—?”

Ygraine pats the space next to her on the sofa. “Sit, Arthur. I will tell you a story of when I was a little girl.” Cautiously, Arthur sits down, wondering what other inexplicable things are about to happen. “When I was just a girl—about 7 or 8—I went out to the woods with my brothers and sister—“

“Tristan, Agravaine, and Vivianne,” supplies Arthur.

Ygraine looks pleased and nods at him. “Yes, I can see that Uther has told you something of me.”

Arthur nods eagerly. “He has, but I’ve only ever met Uncle Agravaine.”

Ygraine looks into the distance, as though she can see something Arthur can’t—although, maybe she can—and smiles mysteriously. “Yes, you wouldn’t have met the others. They are here with me. Anyway, we all went out into the woods to play for the day and we came upon a small cave. Tris and Agravaine dared Viv to go inside and so she did, even though her little legs were trembling at the thought of it. She had always been afraid of the dark, poor lamb. But she did it anyway, because Viv was never one to back down from a challenge.” Ygraine pauses to purse her lips, as though she’s thinking of something distasteful. “So she went inside, all on her own whilst we waited outside. I tried to change her mind before she went in and told her she didn’t need to do it just to prove Tris and Ag wrong, but she insisted that she wasn’t a scaredy-cat. We waited for ages, or at least, that’s what it felt like. Then, somewhere deep inside the cave there was a scream. Tris and Agravaine froze on the spot. They were terrified that something awful had happened and they’d get in trouble with our father for daring her to go in. So it looked like it was down to me to go and rescue her. I hitched up my dress around my knees and headed into the cave, just like that. Pretty soon I discovered her inside, a sad state. She had screamed not because she was hurt, but because a bat had flown in her face and now she was too scared to come out because she was worried that the boys would think her a scaredy-cat for sure. So we quickly devised a plan and when we exited the cave, Vivianne limped out. The boys begged us not to tell our mother how she had sprained her ankle and promised Viv _anything_ she wanted. She had them eating out of the palm of her hand, and they gave her their desserts every night for two whole weeks before they realised.”

Arthur smiles. “It sounds like having siblings was fun. I wish I’d had more of them.”

Ygraine stiffens next to him, and her face turns abruptly stony and hard. “Well,” she says curtly. “Your father had his fun, didn’t he? And you have one now, don’t you? You should be careful what you wish for, you may find that it does not turn out how you wanted it to.”

“Mother, I don’t understand,” says Arthur.

“My sister, Vivianne...she _comforted_ your father when I was ill, before I became pregnant. Little did I know then that you already had the sibling I so craved for you, back when you were still in my belly.”

“I—Morgana? But— I never realised…” 

“I must go now, Arthur. But remember, you must resolve your unfinished business soon. If you don’t, I am not sure we will be able to meet again.”

“But—but—I have so many things still to ask you. I don’t want you to go. We’ve barely had a chance to know each other. And how do I know what my unfinished business is, if no one will tell me? Is it my murder? Please…”

Ygraine stands up, and Arthur follows her, watching as the sofa vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

“You will know what it is you must do. It will come to you right here, in your heart.” She smiles at him as she brushes her fingers over the left side of his chest, and then, as before, she slowly fades away, her outline disappearing as though she were a cloud being blown away by the same wind which had carried her there. 

Arthur starts to feel himself being blown away similarly, and when he comes back into being, he is in a graveyard, right at the spot where his body is buried.

He rubs his eyes, trying to get his bearings, and looks down at the freshly dug grave. It’s a bit weird seeing your own grave, and it’s especially disconcerting knowing you were only buried there the day before. It will probably be a while before Merlin and Gwen put a headstone up, and it will probably look even weirder then. But Arthur hopes that he won’t still be around to see it.

He tries to make himself materialise back at the office where he left Merlin, but it appears his powers as a ghost are limited. The afternoon is dull and drizzly, and Arthur frowns as he turns his eyes upwards and he realises that the rain is not actually affecting him, but instead passing through him, leaving him dry and his suit impeccable. Well, at least being a ghost has some advantages. With not much else to do, Arthur goes to sit and wait underneath a nearby tree, hoping Merlin won’t be too mad to come after him, or that eventually he will be able to will himself into existence at Emrys & Pendragon. He’s starting to really hate the afterlife.

Merlin is exhausted when he finally turns up at the church. He really doesn’t know what he’ll do if Arthur’s not here; he’s looked everywhere else he can think of. He gets out of the car and pulls the collar up on his coat to try and defend against the grey drizzle outside. Arthur has to be here, he just has to be. Merlin hurries through the graveyard, almost slipping a few times in the soggy, waterlogged grass until he reaches Arthur’s grave. The soil is still new and bare.

“Arthur?” Merlin calls out. He’s breathless from the cold and the rain, and from the exertion it took to get to Arthur’s burial place. “Arthur?” An overwhelming wave of relief washes over him as he suddenly spots him, a sad, forlorn-looking figure dressed in white, sitting under the tree. “Arthur!” he yells, and this time Arthur looks up, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Merlin!” he calls joyfully. “ _There_ you are. I’ve been waiting for you for _ages_.” He rushes up to Merlin and reaches out as though to grab Merlin’s shoulder, his hand brushing through it. Merlin jumps a little and holds his breath as he feels a little static shock at their weird non-touch. 

“Sorry,” he apologises. “I didn’t stop to think you might be here. Tried a lot of other places before I realised I should have tried here first. What with your… mortal remains… being here, and everything. I was so worried that you would be gone and that I would never know what happened to you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Merlin. I’m stuck here all right.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I do. When I just… disappeared after our fight at the office, I was taken back into the—” Arthur screws up his face, the way he always does when he’s trying to figure out the best way to explain something. “—I don’t know. Wherever it is I got taken the first time, when I,” he swallows uneasily, “died.”

Merlin nods encouragingly. “And…?” he prompts.

“And they told me that I was running out of time. If I take too long to figure things out then that will be it. I will be stuck between worlds. Permanently.”

“No,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “No, I can’t believe that. Who was it that told you that?” Arthur bites his lip and looks away. “Arthur…”

“My mother.”

Merlin hurriedly tries to rearrange his face, sure that he’s not helping any. “Your mother? But you never…”

“I know,” says Arthur, his shoulders slumping. “I know I didn’t. But I just knew. Straight away.”

A long silence stretches between them. Merlin watches Arthur, who is staring down at his hands. Arthur’s mother had died when he was born, but besides that, he’s never mentioned her. Merlin doesn’t know if that’s because Arthur had never known anything about her, or if it’s simply one of the few things that were too private to him to share. He’s not sure if he should ask anything further, but in the end temptation gets the better of him. Arthur is still spotlessly clean and bone dry, even though he’s dead, and Merlin can’t help but envy him a bit as he shivers from the cold and the damp and broaches the silence.

“What was she like?”

Arthur smiles sadly. “Beautiful. And so young. I didn’t—I didn’t know what she looked like. My father, he gave me her ring, but he never so much as showed me a picture of her. Never really spoke of her at all. And yet… when I saw her, I just—I knew it was her.”

“I’m glad you got to meet her.”

Arthur gives him a curt nod and straightens his back “Me too.” He looks Merlin up and down. “Now, let’s you somewhere warm and dry.”

“What about you? I can’t leave you here, and we’ve already established you can’t sit in the car.”

“I think I can make my own way there now. I’ll meet you at the office.”

And then he disappears again, leaving behind a shimmering cloud of smoke that dissipates as soon as Arthur does, as if neither of them were ever there.

Merlin curses all the way back to the car.


	3. One Foot in the Grave

Once Merlin is safely sequestered back in the office, a cup of tea in hand, he finally deems it okay to stop giving Arthur the silent treatment and start going back over what they already know about his death. Their conversation turns towards Blackwater Investments again, and they discuss the car that had tailed them after Arthur had broken into their offices.

“Don’t say it like that, Merlin,” interrupts Arthur. “You make it sound like it was bad. Say I was liberating information.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and tells Arthur about the paperwork he saw on Cenred’s desk at the party, which definitely puts him on the list of suspects.

“All I’m saying is, I know what I saw. Cenred King is involved with Blackwater Investments somehow. I mean, how else do you explain an actual Van Gogh in his house!?” exclaims Merlin, waving the biscuit in his hand and sprinkling a trail of crumbs over his desk.

Arthur eyes the mess with obvious distaste and shakes his head. “But if Cenred was involved in this whole thing, why would he have hired us to investigate his wife? Why would he have invited you to look at the art and had my brakes cut when he could have simply not have involved us in his life in the first place? We would have been none the wiser at his involvement. I’m just… not sure it makes sense.”

Merlin sighs into his cup of tea. He’s almost feeling fully recovered from his stint in the cold, wet graveyard (he always keeps a spare set of clothes at the office), and he’s finally over his hangover from the heavy drinking the night before, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t give the half empty scotch bottle on his desk a death glare. If looks could kill... Actually, Merlin is sometimes worried that his looks could actually do that, if he didn’t keep things under control like Gaius had taught him.

“Look, I’m not sure how it fits in either, but it feels like it should, somehow. I think we should start out by checking out Blackwater Investments. I can pose as an investor—” Arthur screws his nose up at that. “Shut up,” Merlin warns, pointing a finger at him. “We can go to their offices on an official visit and do a bit of snooping. See if we can figure out what it is that they’re actually doing.”

“Oh!” exclaims Arthur. “And you should go back to Cenred again, tell him you want to see his art, maybe do some flirting or something and see if you can find that letter. We need to find out how involved he is. He could just be an innocent investor for all we know. We could be barking up the wrong tree.”

Merlin looks up from dunking his biscuit, eyebrow crooked in surprise. “Oh, no. No way in hell am I going to do anything that could result in that slimy, creepy, and—quite frankly— _repulsive_ man getting anywhere near me.”

“Merlin…” Arthur warns.

“Arthur,” says Merlin, drawing out his name mockingly.

Arthur looks at him the way that he has always done when he wants to get Merlin to do something. His clear blue eyes are bigger and more earnest than usual, his mouth downturned and pouty. In another lifetime, Merlin would just kiss that pout off of his face and have done with it. But Arthur’s a ghost, and he never wanted Merlin like that, anyway. He continues to stare at Merlin, as though he’s looking straight into his soul, and Merlin feels his resolve falter, just like it always does.

“Arthur, come on,” he says. “You can’t honestly see me to trying to flirt with that creep, can you?”

An amused smile spreads across Arthur’s face. “Oh, but it would be so much fun to watch.”

Merlin throws a balled-up piece of paper straight through him. “I hate you.”

“Nope, you just wish you did.”

Merlin sighs. “Look, why don’t we try me posing as an investor first, and if that doesn’t bring us any closer to figuring things out, _then_ I’ll try flirting with Creepy Cenred to see if we can rule him out.”

“Fine. Better call Gwen, though, if you want to pass yourself off as someone with money to burn. Your fashion sense is atrocious.” Merlin glares at him. “What? It is. Ask anyone with eyes. Ask Gwen nicely and I’m sure she’ll go with you.”

Merlin sighs and shakes his head, then finishes off his biscuit. “The things I do for you, Arthur.”

“So, how are things?” Gwen asks, coming up to him outside the suit shop. She had suggested the place to him when Merlin had called her yesterday.

Merlin makes an indifferent noise. “Could be better.”

“Yeah.” There’s an awkward pause between the two of them, as though now that Arthur is dead and the funeral is over, they don’t have a huge amount in common anymore. Merlin can’t help but think that that’s actually fairly accurate. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

“It’s all right. I’m sure things will settle down and we’ll find a new normal soon. Spent most of this morning catching up with bills at the office, amongst other things.” Merlin pulls a face at the thought. Arthur had impatiently taken a short break from their investigation whilst he tried to teach Merlin the ropes with their accounting system and how to make payments, but it hadn’t gone very well. He’s clearly still in a bad mood, standing there next to Merlin with his arms crossed, tapping his foot on the pavement.

 _”Come on, Merlin. Let’s get inside and get started,”_ he grumbles.

Merlin pulls the door open and gestures for Gwen and Arthur to go in ahead of him. “Have you given any more thought to what I said last week?” she asks, as she goes through.

“What?” 

“About the business. You know, between you and me, Arthur was right. I always did have reservations about it, I mean, private investigators? It’s like something out of a TV show; no one _actually_ does it as a career. It’s not viable.” Arthur makes a huff of annoyance at Merlin’s side and looks away from Gwen, his jaw set obstinately. “Why don’t you go away, have a little break? You could go visit your mother. She would love to see you. I know that you wanted to support Arthur, but he’s dead; maybe you should take this as an opportunity to move on.”

“What? No!” says Merlin indignantly. He might be struggling right now, but with Arthur’s help he’s sure he can figure out how to do most of the basic day-to-day tasks by himself. They had worked so hard to get the business off the ground. He’s not going to throw it all away now just because they’ve hit a few hurdles.

_”I can’t believe she actually came out and said that to you,”_ complains Arthur bitterly. _“But I guess I always did know that she didn’t approve of our idea.”_

Merlin sighs and shrugs a shoulder at him.

“All right,” says Gwen apologetically. “It was just a suggestion. I just... I don’t want you continuing the business out of some kind of misplaced guilt, that’s all.”

“I’m not,” Merlin responds shortly, surprising himself a little with how defensive he’s become of their little business. “I want to carry on. I’ve invested a lot in this job, and I _enjoy_ doing it.”

“Well, so long as you’re doing it for the right reasons. Look, let’s go get you measured up. You couldn’t even tell me your waist size earlier, let alone your chest measurements or collar size for this mysterious case of yours, and I don’t want to be too long. Elyan is picking me up in a few hours and I’m looking forward to getting some fresh air and watching him work for a few days.”

“Okay,” Merlin replies letting himself be lead through the shop by Gwen.

A shop assistant comes up to them with a tape measure and starts to take all sorts of weird measurements, calling them out to Gwen who nods and notes them all down. When she’s done, Merlin is left wondering if he might have been violated in some way, given how close the woman got to some pretty private areas of his anatomy.

Gwen finally takes up their conversation again.

“Merlin… are you sure you’re up for this? I mean, we only buried Arthur the day before yesterday.” 

Merlin laughs awkwardly. It was always going to be too soon for him, but now that Arthur is back, albeit as a ghost who needs his help to move on, he’s got no choice. “I feel like it’s me that should be asking you that,” he says.

 _“No! Just tell her yes and let’s get going. You just need to get her to help you chose a nice expensive suit and then we can move along. I only have a until the next full moon to figure out who killed me, which, I will remind you, is not all that far away from now,”_ Arthur says, annoyed.

“Oh my god, will you just _shut up!_ ” Merlin hisses at him. 

Gwen looks at him, confused and a little concerned. “Merlin? What was that for? Who are you—?”

“It’s okay, Gwen, I don’t mean you,” Merlin says cutting her off. 

Arthur laughs and Merlin grits his teeth, trying to ignore him. 

“Look, I don’t want to scare you, but I—” He glances around for the shop assistant, and when he can’t spot her anywhere he pulls Gwen into the changing room with him. “I mean, I’m fine, Gwen, honestly I am. We need to keep on living, don’t we? But, well...” He licks his lips and looks over at her nervously. “There’s something I need to tell you. Last night, after the funeral, I went back to the office and had a few drinks, and, well, something interesting happened—” He hesitates for a moment before carrying on. “I wanted to tell you earlier, only I didn’t want you to think that I was crazy. It’s just, ever since Arthur died, I’ve been kind of having these weird _feelings_. Almost like I was being watched by someone, or something. And, well…”

Arthur glares at him. _“Oh no, Merlin!”_ He rubs a hand down his face. _“She’s just going to think you were drunk! Honestly, you are making a right pig’s ear out of this!”_

Merlin turns his head to glare warningly at Arthur, and continues, “... ever since the night of the funeral, I’ve been able to see him, talk to him. Arthur, I mean.”

Arthur sighs dramatically. _“She’s not going to believe you, you idiot.”_

And he’s right. Gwen frowns for a moment, and then she looks at him pityingly. “Oh, Merlin,” she says, her voice soft and full of sympathy. “I miss him, too. I can’t tell you how much. But if you think that you’re seeing Arthur still, then I really think that you need to reconsider taking a break or something, don’t you? I mean, just listen to yourself! Listen to what you’re saying. Why not go away somewhere to clear your head? You’ve been working far too hard lately.” She shakes her head at him, her eyes glistening. “Look, you can’t just go around claiming you can see and hear Arthur, sweetie. He’s dead. And you’ve been going through so much and I—I know that you...” She gnaws at her lip and lets out a big sigh, glancing away for a moment before she turns back and looks him in the eyes. “I know how you felt about him, okay? I know that you loved him, too. I told myself for so long that you didn’t, but I think always knew that you did, deep down. But letting yourself believe in this _fantasy_? That Arthur’s still here, even though he’s dead? It’s just too much, Merlin. I think you need some help. A therapist maybe? Or a psychiatrist?”

Arthur is standing next to them, his arms crossed, looking extremely smug and pleased with himself. _“I told you so.”_

“Yes, well, no one likes a know-it-all, Arthur,” Merlin mutters mutinously. Gwen raises both eyebrows at him.

“Merlin, you’re _worrying me_. Please, please see someone about this. You can’t just go around pretending you’re talking to him. I mean, I’ve had a few conversations with him in my head, at times when it’s all particularly tough, but I know that that’s all they are— _imaginary_. You’re acting like he’s actually here with us! I—I don’t mean to bring up bad memories, but, well you’re starting to sound an awful lot like Morgana did when she went all… back when she was a teenager. And I don’t… I don’t want that to happen to you, too.”

Merlin blinks at her in disbelief. He’s not sure exactly what reaction he had been expecting from Gwen, but he certainly hadn’t thought that she’d accuse him of turning into Morgana. When she was younger Morgana had always seemed wise beyond her years, and she’d had an uncanny knack for knowing what kinds of mischief they’d be getting into before they’d even thought of it and threatening to tell their parents what they were up to. Then she’d started having nightmares and disturbing dreams which somehow, inexplicably, came true. It had all become too much for her, and she had started acting violently. Uther had had her institutionalised when she was sixteen. Merlin holds back a shudder. On the day they’d taken Morgana away, he had vowed never to breathe a word about his magic to another soul, and besides those few he’d met since who also had magic, to whom his powers were obvious, he never has. No one outside of the Druid community and his immediate family knows what he can do.

Even so, it’s insulting that not only is Gwen refusing to believe him (quite frankly, if he had been in her situation, he’d have been delighted to have the chance to know that his fiancé was there with them), but she also thinks that he is worthy of being institutionalised for offering her the chance to talk with Arthur. He glances over at Arthur with a look that says, ‘help me with this! Please.’ Arthur shrugs. Merlin just wants Gwen to understand; maybe if she does, she’ll be able to see Arthur too.

“I’m not crazy,” he says finally, his voice strong and deliberate. “I know what I’m seeing. He’s really here. He’s standing right next to us.” Merlin gestures over to Arthur. “Look, if you don’t believe me, ask me a question that only Arthur would know. I’ll ask him and then tell you the answer. That way you’ll know I’m telling the truth!”

Gwen looks at him through her tears. “Fine. Tell me—tell me,” she colours and looks embarrassed. “Tell me what I said to him, the first time that we had sex.”

Oh, for fuck’s—Merlin rolls his eyes. He really, _really_ does _not_ need to know this. He looks over at Arthur expectantly with a sigh.

Arthur is blushing too, and he fiddles with his jacket. “Oh God,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She—” His voice comes out quietly. “She called me her ‘love stallion’”

Merlin presses his lips together, trying to stop himself from bursting out laughing. When he thinks he can trust himself not to crack up, he finally speaks. “You, uh—” He grips his hair and tries to not to look amused. “You called him your—your love stallion.”

She screeches and launches herself at him, hitting at him with her balled up fists. “Oh my God! I CAN’T BELIEVE HE ACTUALLY TOLD YOU THAT!” she screams. “He promised me he wouldn’t!”

And then, almost as quickly, she rips back the curtain and storms off out of the changing room, leaving Merlin all on his own.

“So, that went well then,” quips Arthur.

Merlin turns and glares at him. Arthur just smirks in return.

“Well done, Arthur. Look, let’s just grab something and go, okay? This looks all right.” He picks up a random suit—it’s green and looks like it should fit him okay, with the added bonus that he’s sure that Arthur will throw a fit about it—and turns to take it back into the changing room with him.

Behind him, he hears an indignant exclamation from Arthur, which makes him grin. “No way! Absolutely not. Put that back right now, Merlin. I swear, you must be colour blind or something. Besides, green is a terrible colour for your complexion. Follow me, and I’ll show you a couple of suits that should at least make you look like you have money, if nothing else. Now, what are your measurements again?”

Several minutes and many complaints later, Merlin returns to the changing room with four suits that Arthur deems almost acceptable for a rich investor. He hangs them on the hook and draws the curtain. Tugging off his t-shirt and casting it aside, he is about to undo his belt when he looks up, feeling as though he’s being watched. It turns out that’s because he _is_ being watched. By Arthur. 

“Do you mind?” says Merlin. “I’m getting changed here, Arthur. Some privacy, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve got anything I haven’t seen before, Merlin,” he says. “But fine. If it will help with your delicate Victorian sensitivities, I will wait outside.” Then he walks straight through the curtain.

Merlin frowns and wraps his arms around himself. He’s not being delicate, but maybe Arthur had hit on an element of truth when he said that Merlin was being sensitive. It’s hard not to be. Arthur had completely ignored him for months after the Barcelona incident. Even when they had finally become friends again, Merlin had made great efforts to distance himself from his Arthur and deflect anything that could be considered even slightly physical between them. In comparison to Arthur, he has always known that he is scrawny and pale and not attractive in the slightest. Arthur had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t fancy him, so Merlin has done his best to avoid ever taking his clothes off around him, to circumvent the teasing that would inevitably result. 

He would have preferred it if they had ceased to have any physical contact entirely, and had always tried to duck away from Arthur’s rough-housing, but at least that’s no longer an issue now that Arthur is a ghost. Even so, he still feels awkward about undressing around him, and he probably always will. He knows that he has filled out some since his skinny teenage days, and he has gained a bit of muscle definition since deciding to attempt a bit of a twice-weekly workout at the gym (a different one to the one Arthur used, of course). In fact, normally he’s pretty happy with his body, and he’s had no complaints from the guys he’s dated over the last few years. But for some reason, when it comes to Arthur, he’s still sensitive about his appearance. 

He stares at the suits hanging in front of him. Best get on with it. The sooner he tries them on and lets Arthur pick one, the sooner he can get out of here and go home. Merlin grabs the nearest shirt and starts to pull it on.

The next morning, Merlin pushes open a glass door emblazoned with the now very familiar logo of Blackwater Industries and steps inside. He’s looking pretty good, if Arthur does say so himself. It was worth all the time they’d spent at the tailor’s the day before, not to mention the hefty price tag, to see him so well turned out for a change. Arthur is regretting not having mandated that Merlin always wear a suit to the office, because he cleans up really well and looks incredible. The suit Arthur picked out really does wonders for Merlin’s slender form, and choosing navy over black was definitely the right way to go.

Merlin pockets the car keys from the Mercedes they’d rented and pulls off his sunglasses, slipping them into his breast pocket. His eyes light up with recognition when he spots Arthur standing near the reception desk. The woman is on the phone, but she nods at Merlin and gestures for him to take a seat, apparently assuming he was looking at her. Merlin sinks down onto the plush leather sofa, somehow managing to fold his limbs as he does so in a way that actually seems graceful and confident, as though he’s grown into his body finally and is no longer a newborn foal. Arthur frowns as he realises the change. There seem to have been a lot of changes to Merlin over the past however many years, changes that Arthur appears to have missed. When the hell had Merlin made the transition from a skinny and scrawny teen to this broad-shouldered man? A man who looks charming and handsome and pretty much model-worthy in that suit of his. Arthur’s half tempted to find a way to set Merlin’s wardrobe on fire so that he can direct him on how to replace it. Why would Merlin go around wearing oversized hoodies and t-shirts with baggy jeans when he could go around looking like this? Merlin’s never been exactly ugly. He’s always had this otherworldly look to him, as though he doesn’t quite belong amongst ordinary, everyday people. His brilliant blue eyes are so forthright and expressive, his lips have always been sinfully plush, and his ears? Well, let’s just say he’s grown into them somehow.

But Arthur has always tried to ignore Merlin's ethereal qualities, treating him the same way he would any of the other guys he's friends with. He's comfortable enough with his sexuality to admit that Merlin's quite attractive, for a man, but he wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong idea. It's only recently that he’s actually noticed that Merlin seems to be uncomfortable around him. That Merlin hasn’t really been himself for a while, though Arthur isn’t sure exactly what triggered it. It can’t still be Barcelona, can it? That was years ago. But now that Arthur really thinks about it, Merlin has been a lot quieter and more distant with Arthur since...well, he can’t pin-point _exactly_ when, because things had seemed fine. But things have definitely changed between them since the end of uni, around the time that he and Gwen had moved in together. Sure, they’ve been laughing and joking together like they always have. But something hasn’t _quite_ been right. Merlin’s smiles—the true, infectious kind—have all but ceased, having been replaced with ones that don’t quite reach his eyes and which slip off of his face just as soon as he thinks Arthur’s not looking.

Arthur’s wanted to talk to him about it, but he’s not good at feelings, really; that’s always been Merlin’s thing. He’s not sure how to reverse that dynamic, and it doesn’t seem to come to him as easily as it does to Merlin. He’s disappointed that he hasn’t been able to figure out what’s wrong and makes a note to try harder. Maybe he can figure it out if he keeps a closer eye on Merlin.

With that in mind, he goes to sit down next to Merlin on the couch and falls straight through it. He can see Merlin biting his lip and looking away, trying desperately to not let it show on his face how much he wants to laugh.

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur mumbles as he gets to his feet. He tries again, several more times, to perch on the seat next to Merlin, until finally he manages it, although the sofa still doesn’t feel all that stable beneath him.

Naturally, that’s when the receptionist calls them over.

“How can I help you, sir?” she asks Merlin, ignoring Arthur as though he isn’t even there, which he supposes can’t be helped. He wonders why it is that Merlin is the only one who seems to be able to see him. He should have asked his mother when he had the chance, but it’s too late for that now. Maybe it’s because Merlin is the one best placed to help him? He makes a mental note to see if he can figure out how to get other people to see him, too.

Arthur watches Merlin looks around the office with a casual air of indifference before he finally looks at the receptionist with cold disdain. It’s so different to Merlin’s usual clumsy, friendly manner that Arthur is momentarily staggered by it. Damn, Merlin is good.

“I’d like to talk to someone about investment opportunities.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asks as she types something on her computer. Merlin shakes his head “Then I’m sorry, I’m afraid Mr Jones won’t see you today. I can make you an appointment with him in… three weeks time. Would that suit?”

_”Merlin, we can’t wait that long. We need to see someone today. Kick up a fuss, flash your hypothetical cash, and let her know you mean business.”_

Merlin gives Arthur a slight nod and then rolls his eyes dramatically. “Not good enough, I’m afraid, Miss…?” he says, his voice turning hard and steely as he fiddles with a cufflink. Fuck, Arthur didn’t know Merlin could sound like that. “I’m on a very tight schedule.”

“North,” she supplies. “It’s _Ms_ North, and I really can’t—”

Merlin leans closer to her and lowers his voice. “Look, Ms North, I’m a busy man. So why don’t you check again on your computer and see if I can’t speak with your boss? Otherwise I’ll have to consider taking my business elsewhere.”

She glares at him and then goes back to typing. For a moment Arthur worries that she’s going to chuck them out. “Your name?” she finally asks.

“ _Thank_ you. Nathan Evans.” He and Arthur had sat down together last night (well, Arthur had perched, instead of sitting; he’s still getting the hang of being a ghost) and figured out a name and a detailed backstory for Merlin to use, so that he could be convincing for his visit.

“Mr Jones has a fifteen minute appointment available at ten o'clock. Take it or leave it,” Ms North finishes. Arthur grins. If she could have got away with it, he thinks Ms North would have been chewing gum, so that she could snap at them scornfully. Instead, she registers her disapproval by staring at Merlin over the top of her glasses.

“Thank you,” Merlin replies, his tone once more warm and genuine.

As Merlin turns to take a seat, Arthur makes towards the open doorway beyond the receptionist's desk. Merlin tries to grab his arm. “Where are you going?” he hisses between his teeth.

 _“I’m going to have a bit of a snoop to see what I can find out,”_ Arthur says.

“Without me?” Merlin whispers, indignant. He turns and smiles awkwardly at the receptionist as he sits down, and there, _that’s_ the Merlin that Arthur knows.

_“Yes, without you. I can have a look about the place and see what they’re up to, whilst you distract them by talking about investments.”_

Arthur smirks at him, nods his head and then walks straight through the wall where Merlin can’t follow. He can just hear Merlin calling after him, “That is not what we agreed and you know it!"

As he glares at the place where Arthur’s ghostly form has just disappeared, Merlin becomes aware of the receptionist looking over at him with raised eyebrows. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster.

“On a call,” he mimes, tapping his ear as if to indicate a Bluetooth headset. Her expression doesn’t change, and Merlin has a sinking feeling he’s going to have to get used to people thinking he’s crazy before this thing with Arthur is resolved.

Left with no other choice, Merlin waits in reception, drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair and worrying about how Arthur’s getting on. Honestly, what was he thinking going in there on his own? Every time Arthur goes off on a tangent, they seem to get into trouble, and Merlin half suspects that Arthur’s little sojourn to Jonas Wentworth’s office the other week is what had kickstarted the events leading to his death. 

First there had been the car which had followed them, trying to scare them and knock them off of the road. Then there was the moment when Arthur had almost been hit crossing the road outside of the coffee shop. The driver hadn’t even so much as glanced over his shoulder to see if Arthur was okay. At the time, Merlin had chalked it up to an accident, because things like that happened sometimes, but in light of Arthur’s death he’s starting to view everything with suspicion. For instance, there had been that weird man that Arthur mentioned, who had appeared to be following him when he went jogging for several days in a row. It had made him uncomfortable enough to change his morning routine, although he had only mentioned it to Merlin when he’d noticed that Arthur had gone to the gym before work, rather than after, to do his running on a treadmill instead. Then there as there was that incident where the lady at the sandwich shop had accidently given Arthur a sandwich with peanut butter in it. Merlin had had to give Arthur a shot with his epipen, but since Arthur’s allergy was severe, it was hardly the first time Merlin had done so, and it hadn’t really crossed his mind that it could have been foul play. All that, plus the car that had tried to knock them down outside Cenred’s party. Either Arthur had been the unluckiest man in the universe, or someone had been out to get him. But who?

As he continues drumming his fingers, Merlin tries his best to look nonchalant and disinterested for poor Ms North, who must think him rather crazy by now. Merlin hopes she at least thinks of him as a crazy, _rich_ man, otherwise his cover is completely blown.

The door to the building opens, attracting Merlin’s attention, and in walks Arthur’s uncle, of all people. Merlin freezes in his chair, a shudder of fear running through him. If Agravaine sees him, that’s _it_ , their cover will be completely blown. He watches Agravaine as he goes and speaks in hushed tones with the receptionist, who points over at the door to her left, causing Merlin to panic for a moment, convinced that Agravaine will surely notice him. He wishes that he had a magazine or something, so that he could use it to hide his face from view so that he won’t be recognised. His hand twitches, desperate to grab his phone from his pocket, but he manages to stop himself. Arthur said that he should avoid getting his phone out at all costs, because his battered old Samsung would give him away immediately. In fact, Merlin is afraid to so much as breathe right now, lest he draw any attention to himself whatsoever. Instead he clasps his hands and bows his head, pretending to be immensely interested in the floor.

He finally lets out the breath he’d been holding when he hears the soft sound of a door clicking closed.

Just then, the receptionist pipes up. “Mr Evans?

Merlin’s head shoots up in surprise. That’s him. He swallows and tries to push down his unease as he dons his fake persona of Nathan Evans, wealthy investor. He slowly stands up and straightens his suit jacket, readying himself to go. At least this is one step closer to figuring out what Blackwater Investments are up to. All he needs to do is avoid Agravaine. That shouldn’t be too hard, should it? He’ll be in the office with an associate for most of the time, and he’ll just have to be alert and aware of his surroundings for the rest. He can do this. 

He walks towards the receptionist, and Ms North plasters on a professional smile. “Please follow me, Mr Evans and I’ll show you the way to Mr Jones’ office.”

“Thank you.”

Merlin trails after her, still puzzling over the Agravaine’s appearance. Why is Agravaine here when he supposedly works for Essetir Enterprises? This whole case seems to be getting curiouser and curiouser.

“Just down the corridor and on the left, Mr Evans,” Ms North says, indicating the correct direction before continuing with a speech that she’s obviously got down rote, “I do hope that you’ll be satisfied with our services and consider investing with us.”

“I’m sure you do,” Merlin mutters under his breath. He walks down the corridor, shaking his head and trying to push all thoughts of Arthur’s smarmy, sycophantic uncle out of his head.

“Ah, Mr Evans!” greets the man behind the desk, standing up and extending his hand to shake as Merlin enters the office. Merlin assumes this must be Mr Jones and hurriedly shakes his hand. “Welcome! Please take a seat. I hear from my receptionist that you are most eager to discuss investment opportunities with us.”

“Uh, yes,” says Merlin, momentarily flustered from the rapid-fire greeting. _Pull yourself together. You need to be convincing. He needs to believe you have lots of money, _he tells himself. He takes a seat as casually and aloofly as he can.__

“Would you mind if I asked how much you were looking to invest, Mr Evans? Our options vary according to how much money you have to play with, I’m sure you understand…”

Merlin nods and is about to reply when he’s distracted by a movement in the corner of his eye. Arthur sails clean through the door and stops beside him.

 _“Hey Merlin, you’ll never guess what I found,"_ he says.

“...Mr Evans? Mr Evans?”

Shit. Merlin moves his attention away from Arthur and pays attention to Mr Jones.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Jones. You were saying?”

The man nods and smiles at Merlin as he rubs his hands. “I was just wondering how much you were thinking of investing.”

Merlin pauses for a moment as if he’s considering it, but in truth, he and Arthur decided this bit last night. Merlin is to offer a reasonably enticing amount, but then let slip that he would be willing to drop considerably more money should their investments prove fruitful. He crosses his legs nonchalantly.

“Hmm, well. I was thinking that I might start with one million and see what kind of return you can give me, then we can talk the big money.”

Mr Jones sits back and raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, let me talk you through your options then…”

Merlin keeps his eyes forward as Arthur creeps towards him and whispers, _“Well, I can tell you that_ something strange _is going on with this company. A man came out of a room and locked the door. Not a problem for me, of course…”_ Nor me, Merlin adds silently. _”I went straight in and had a look—tons of stuff in there, expensive things. Why would they keep things like that in an office? Plus there’s a big safe in the wall. You need to get in there somehow, Merlin. I can’t touch anything, but I’m sure there’s got to be something incriminating in there.”_

Glancing over at him whilst Mr Jones continues rattling off his options. Merlin whispers out of the corner of his mouth, “And how do you expect me to do that, exactly?”

_”I don’t know. But I’m sure you can think of something, Merls. I’m going to check the other offices out, maybe eavesdrop on some conversations. You just agree to whatever will make this idiot happy and then try and get into that room.”_

Merlin huffs under his breath and tries to look like he is paying attention until Mr Jones finally stops talking.

“So, Mr Evans, which option do you think would be most agreeable for you?”

Merlin tries to look contemplative before bluffing his way through it. “Hmm, they’re all very interesting prospects, Mr Jones. But I had a few questions of my own, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“By all means,” replies Mr Jones, smiling widely.

“I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about the other kinds of people who tend to invest through you. How much do they usually invest?”

“I’m glad you asked, Mr Evans. We have a large clientele here at BI, and we value their need for confidentiality and privacy. However, I can tell you that we have a number of well-known and extremely wealthy clients, some of which owe much of their monetary success to the careful guidance and experience of our advisors.”

“Well-known? You mean, like celebrities? Like say, musicians, maybe?” questions Merlin, wondering how far he can push this. Is Cenred a client here? It might explain his art collection.

“Yes, we have many celebrities as clients. The amount our clients invest can vary greatly; it really depends on what they are hoping to get out of their investments and how much they might be willing to risk,” explains Mr Jones.

“And could I perhaps invest in otherways? Say, if I had a valuable painting or other such art work, would I be able to use that as collateral?”

Mr Jones raises his eyebrows at Merlin and a look of understanding flashes across his face. His smile turns devious. “Ah,” he says. “Have you been referred to us by someone?”

Merlin gulps, and against his better instincts he nods. “Cenred King.”

“Ah, yes. Mr King has been a valued investor for some time now. If Mr King has recommended us to you, well, I’m sure that we can work out some way to be of assistance to each other.”

Merlin’s mind reels. Just what is it that they’ve stumbled into here? He’d asked about using art as collateral on a whim after Arthur’s discovery in the cupboard. He’d been feeling uncertain about Blackwater Industries before, but now that he’s uncovered this little gem of information he’s not sure quite how to proceed.

“You know what,” Merlin glances down at the man’s name plate, “Alvarr, I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.” He fishes around inside his jacket pocket and pulls out a business card. “Perhaps you could contact my assistant for further details? Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get going. But thank you for your time. It’s been most useful. I’ll see myself out.”

After he’s excused himself, Merlin slips out of the office and goes in search of the locked door or Arthur, whichever he finds first. As it happens, he encounters the door. Merlin pauses and looks up and down the empty corridor. He ducks his head and whispers a quiet spell, directing it at the camera at the end of the hallway. It’s a similar spell to the one he uses at Emrys and Pendragon to make sure all unauthorised electronics cease to work once they’ve crossed the threshold. This spell has scrambled the feed for the security camera, but the result is the same and will render the camera useless. Now safely unobserved, Merlin bends his head and examines the keypad. He’s seen these before, and using a magic spell to unlock them doesn’t seem to work at all; fortunately, a huge surge of power does. Merlin can short-circuit it that way, rendering it useless. Well, okay, like a normal lock. One which can be opened with a spell that he happily whispers. “Tóspringe.”

Slipping inside, he carefully closes the door behind him. He looks around. Arthur wasn’t kidding. Paintings are stacked against the wall, and there are a few statues and vases stored here as well. All look equally expensive. Just what on Earth is the company up to? He tip-toes across to the safe and is ready to try a spell on it when Arthur comes rushing in.

“Merlin, we’ve got to go, NOW,” he says reaching out to grab Merlin’s arm and making a noise of frustration as his hand passes straight through it.

“What? Why?” Merlin asks.

“My uncle!” Arthur exclaims.

“Oh, fuck. Of course, I meant to warn you that he was in the office. But it’s been ages since we last saw him, hasn’t it? Surely he won’t recognise me. I’m just a nobody. He didn’t even speak to me at your funeral; he was too busy sucking up to Gwen. And you’re a ghost, so no worries there.”

A look of realisation dawns on Arthur’s face. “Of course! I’d forgotten about that.”

“Forgotten about— How does anyone forget that they died?” asks Merlin.

Arthur smiles and shrugs at him. “Well, you and me, doing something stupid to solve a mystery—it seems just like old times, doesn’t it?”

Merlin can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, because it’s true. It’s just like old times, as if the accident never happened. Merlin’s almost convinced that if he reaches out and tries to take Arthur’s hand in his, he will be able to do it. He looks over at Arthur to find him staring at him with a weird look on his face. He takes a few moments to absorb it and catalogue it away for later, when he has the time to try and puzzle out what it might mean, before he clears his throat.

“So...we should get going?” he says.

Arthur shakes his head. “No, I thought maybe he’d recognise me and come after us. But—” he gestures down at his pale, shimmering body, “—ghost. So crisis averted. Have a look around, will you? See if you can find anything.”

Merlin lets out a put-upon sigh. “Fine.” He proceeds to look around the room a second time. The safe is completely out of the question now that Arthur is here. Ah-hah! He spots several filing cabinets in the corner of the room and makes his way over to them.

“Yes, good thinking,” says Arthur, peering over Merlin’s shoulder. “Ooh, look at that one!” he says, pointing to a green folder.

Merlin can feel the muscles in his back tensing at the presence of Arthur behind him. If it weren’t for the fact that he is being so annoying right now, Merlin would have rather enjoyed the feeling of Arthur so close. Maybe even filed it away for a few choice daydreams later on. But right now, he’s a hindrance.

“Arthur,” he says through gritted teeth. “Let me see if I can figure out what their filing system is first, before we go picking out random files based on their colours.”

“I bet the green one contains something interesting,“ Arthur persists. “But if you want to do it the _boring_ way, then go ahead.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and sets about his task of trying to figure out what information is in here and how it’s filed. He pulls out a random file (deliberately avoiding the green one that Arthur had suggested, just to be contrary) and scans it. It seems fairly boring. A form with the clients name, address and contact information, what looks like a contract of some kind. They don’t look fishy to him. But why would they be being kept behind locked doors? Some kind of privacy issue? He flicks through a few more folders and finds similar things. All look uniform and mundane. They are definitely records of clients who have contracts with Blackstone Investments, filed in alphabetical order.

“You should look in the one I chose,” says Arthur, looking smug.

“Fine.” Merlin relents and picks up the file with a huff. He flicks it open and his mouth drops when he sees the name on it. He looks up at Arthur with wide eyes. “Cenred King! But… how?”

Arthur grins at him. “Eavesdropped on a ‘confidential’ phone call. This ghost thing isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. It’s actually quite useful!”

Merlin flicks through the folder. There are the same kinds of contracts in Cenred’s files as there were in the others, but in addition to all that, there are other papers listing different paintings and sculptures with a few photos attached. None of them look like anything Merlin had seen in Cenred’s office. He closes the folder and decides to take it with him. “He’s probably our best bet at this point. Let’s take this pictures of this stuff and get out of here.” Arthur nods his assent, and Merlin pulls the wodge of paperwork out of the folder, and starts laying it out so that he can take photographs of it with his phone. He works through a number of files that look interesting and then tucks his phone away again inside his expensive suit jacket. Job done with the files, he slowly opens the door and peeks around it to check if the coast is clear. Then he turns and starts to walk away, only to bump straight into the very person they had been trying to avoid.

“Merlin? Is that you?” Agravaine asks with surprise. “Arthur’s little friend—I remember seeing you at Arthur’s funeral! My, how you’ve shot up. But still as skinny as ever, I see!”

Merlin scowls at being called little when he’s now more or less the same height as Agravaine. He’d get annoyed at the skinny comment too, but that’s actually true. Merlin has always been painfully thin, no matter what he eats.

“Hello, Agravaine,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. “Are you well?”

“I am plenty well, Merlin.”

 _Pity_ , Merlin thinks. Arthur’s uncle has always been a nasty, sleazy, scheming piece of work. He’s never liked the man and never will.

Agravaine glances at the door behind Merlin. 

“How did you get in there? That door is marked _specifically_ for _staff only_.”

 _“Tell him you had to use the toilet,”_ whispers Arthur.

Merlin turns on his best idiot act, opening his eyes wide in surprise. “Oh, is it? Sorry, I thought it was the toilets!”

Agravaine’s face pales, somersaulting its way through several different expressions before he finally settles on something that looks like worried annoyance.

He narrows his eyes at Merlin. “You _didn’t_.”

Merlin barely resists rolling his eyes. “Of course I didn’t. I’m 24, not 4, Agravaine. I just… got a bit lost. Look, I’ll just be...” Merlin tries to sidle past him and escape, “going and leave you to it. Good to see you, though.”

Shaking his head slightly, he hurries off and makes it safely to their rental car, Arthur in tow. He sighs when he closes the door. “That went well, then.”

“Shut up and drive, Merlin.”

Merlin arrives at the office next morning, a hot coffee in hand, to find DS Godwin waiting for him. Quite frankly, it’s the last thing he needs. He’s exhausted from a lack of sleep, having spent most of the previous night thinking about Blackwater Industries and Arthur’s predicament, and he’s in desperate need of a caffeine hit and some peace and quiet. He rolls his eyes briefly at the police detective and takes a deep breath to steel himself before giving her a curt nod. He fishes his keys out of his pocket to open the office, and once inside sets his coffee down on his desk and dashes over to turn off the alarm.

“DS Godwin,” he greets her, ushering her through the door.

She smiles at him as she walks inside, waiting patiently for Merlin to switch on the lights and pull up the blind before he turns around and grins at her.

“Cup of tea?” he asks kindly.

“Oh, um. No, thank you, Mr Emrys,” the detective says nervously. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Merlin raises an eyebrow at being asked to sit in his own office, but obliges her nonetheless.

“What’s this all about?” he asks, grabbing his coffee and settling back into one of plush leather chairs that Arthur had insisted on buying, despite their ridiculously low budget at the time. “Is something wrong?”

“Standard procedure, Mr Emrys. I’ve come to ask you some questions about the night of Arthur’s death.”

Merlin bites his lip and nods. “Of course.” He’d been expecting her to turn up earlier, but he supposes she’s been working her way through her list of witnesses and suspects. 

She puts out a small notepad and pencil from her jacket. “Where were you the evening of the accident, Mr Emrys?”

He scowls at her. “You know where I was. I was at Cenred King’s house with Arthur.”

“And you were with him the whole time?” she asks, as she scribbles in her notebook.

Merlin pauses in the middle of his sip of coffee and slowly places it down on the desk in front of him. “Are you questioning me as a possible suspect, DS Godwin?” he asks, looking at her speculatively. “Because I’ll have you know that I know you have to caution me before you can do that. And then we ought to move this little… ‘interrogation’ to the police station, along with my solicitor.”

“No, this is merely an interview to help assist us with our inquiries, Mr Emrys,” DS Godwin says with a cautious smile. “You are free to decline to answer at any time.”

He looks at her, eyes narrowed, and nudges a button under his desk with his knee. Arthur had insisted on installing a secret recording device under each of their desks, so that they could protect themselves against erroneous accusations or threats. Merlin thinks he just saw it on a TV show and thought it looked cool, but it actually has come in useful. They’ve had to utilise it several times when people have got angry at them for the findings of their investigations, amongst other things. “Fine. But if I want to stop, we stop.”

“Of course, Mr Emrys. Now, as I was asking. Were you with Mr Pendragon the whole time?”

 _“Oh, this is going to be interesting!”_ says Arthur, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to perch on the edge of his desk. Mournfully he adds, _”If only I could eat popcorn...”_

“Shut up,” Merlin hisses, out of instinct.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Emrys. I can just— Maybe another time would be better?” says DS Godwin, perplexed by his sudden outburst.

Merlin can feel his face heat with embarrassment. He needs to remember that no one else can see Arthur. They’re going to think him a madman if he carries on at this rate. “Oh, um. No, not you. I was saying it to myself. I wasn’t with Arthur the whole time. We split up for a while.”

The detective hums. “And you said the party was at Cenred King’s? How did you both get invited to that?”

“He’s a client,” said Merlin, tapping a finger gently on the table. 

“So he invited you because he had hired you?” she asked, confused.

Merlin shrugged half-heartedly. “In a manner of speaking. I’m sure you’re aware that we have to maintain a degree of discretion in our line of work. That includes not divulging the details of cases to the police without a warrant.”

DS Godwin shifts uncomfortably, and Merlin feels guilty for being so rude and prickly towards her, but over the past few years he and Arthur have learned that they need to be careful when dealing with the police. They’ve been burned too many times by being too nice. Especially Merlin. Arthur has always told him off for being way too kind and helpful to people.

The detective tries to ask another question. “Can you tell me about what happened that night, Mr Emrys? In your own words.”

“Sure,” Merlin says with a sigh. He’s been thinking about that night a lot over the past week, wondering if he could have done anything differently, if he could have somehow stopped Arthur’s death from happening. “I went to the party with Gwen and Arthur—”

“Gwen being Gwen Smith, Arthur’s fiancée?” she interrupts.

“Yes, but you already know that. I know, I know. You’re confirming that I’m referring to the same Gwen,” Merlin says. “Anyway, we arrived together and agreed to split up and talk to the guests at the party. When I was unsuccessful at finding out some information pertinent to our case, I met back up with Arthur and Gwen again and Arthur suggested that he give it a try. Gwen was upset with him because of some of the details involved with the case and they had a fight.”

DS Godwin sat up in her seat at this. “So his fiancée was angry at him? Did she leave before him?”

Arthur chuckles from his seat on the desk. Merlin had almost forgotten that he was there, he’d been so quiet. _“Gwen, wouldn’t hurt a fly, Merlin. You and I both know that.”_

Merlin’s eyes flick over to Arthur before he returns his gaze to Elena. “Yes,” he replies. “But it wasn’t that bad. It was a typical lovers’ quarrel.”

The detective hums. “Other guests at the party say that a woman matching Gwen’s description told Mr Pendragon to ‘drop dead’ before she left. They described it as an ‘intense row’.”

“So are you saying that _Gwen_ is a suspect?” Merlin asks, with a raised eyebrow. He’s seen Arthur and Gwen have blazing rows quite a few times over the years. But they’ve all seemed to blow over after a while, and he knows Gwen would never have done anything to physically hurt Arthur.

“A possible suspect—” begins DS Godwin.

 _”Is she accusing Gwen of murdering me?”_ Arthur pipes up. _“Wow, she is way off the mark with that one. Makes me wonder how this one ever made it to detective sergeant.”_

Merlin glares at him and taps his lip, and Arthur falls silent. “Gwen would never hurt Arthur.” 

“We’re just making sure to cover all our bases, Mr Emrys. We can’t rule her out completely because of their argument.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. Arthur and Gwen had fights like that regularly. That was just how they were. It was just something that Gwen said in the heat of the moment. We all get angry and say silly things sometimes. Doesn’t make us murderers.” 

Arthur perks up again. _”Did you really think that Gwen and I fought a lot?”_ he asks Merlin.

Merlin ignores Arthur as best he can to focus his attention on the ongoing conversation.

DS Godwin purses her lips. “That’s true. But I’m sure you can understand why she might be a person of interest to us. Can you tell me what happened after Miss Smith left?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Is this really necessary?” he asks.

“I’m trying to build up a picture of Mr Pendragon’s movements that night. After Miss Smith left…?”

“Arthur went and spoke with a group of people, and he left with them to go to another part of the house.”

She nods and writes something down on her pad. “Do you know who it was that he went off with?”

“Morgause King. I don’t know what happened after that,” Merlin says. “That was the last time I saw him.”

Merlin looks over at Arthur, his throat growing tight as their eyes meet. God. That was the last time he saw Arthur alive. Merlin knows that he’s lucky that, even though Arthur’s dead, he can still talk to him. But he misses the silly little touches they used to share. Arthur had always been touchy-feely, except for those months after Barcelona when he’d ignored Merlin altogether. And then after Arthur had gotten serious with Gwen, Merlin had tried his best to avoid getting too close to him, knowing it would only hurt more in the long run. Not that that was ever much of a success. He wishes now that he hadn’t spent so much time dodging Arthur’s touch. He misses it. He misses the friendly taps to the head, the hair ruffles, the way Arthur used to sling an arm around his shoulder and it was all that Merlin could do not to turn into his embrace, bury his face in his shoulder and wrap his arms around his waist. Hell, Merlin even misses the way Arthur used to punch him in the arm, and he _never_ thought he’d find himself missing _that_.

DS Godwin nods thoughtfully. “Do you know of anyone else at the party who might have seen him after that?” she asks. “Apart from Mrs King, of course.”

Merlin shakes his head. “Not that I know of. It’s possible people saw him leaving, but I wasn’t there when he left.”

The detective raises an eyebrow curiously and turns to a new page in her notebook. “Oh?” she asks with interest. “Where were you when Arthur left, then, Mr Emrys?”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Merlin reaches for his coffee. “With Cenred King. Discussing his case.”

She nods at him. “And you’re sure you’re not able to give me more details about this case? We want to be sure that it didn’t influence your partner’s murder in some way.”

Merlin shrugs at her and sips his drink. “Not without that warrant. Sorry.” 

DS Godwin sighs and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear—not that it helps reduce her harum-scarum appearance any.

“Look,” Merlin says, taking pity on her. “There is something else Arthur and I have uncovered about a different case we were working on, that… well, I’m not sure it’s strictly relevant to his death, but there is something quite off about it. I don’t know if you’d care to look over those files, if you have the time.”

The detective looks at him curiously. “And what is the case about?” she asks.

“Well, we’re not really quite sure. There’s this investment company that seems to be filtering money through a number of subsidiary companies that they own. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on, whether this is a standard thing for the investment industry, or whether there’s something deeper behind it.” Merlin holds out a file to DS Godwin, and Arthur makes a noise of protect.

 _“What are you doing!”_ he exclaims, gesturing wildly.

Merlin’s eyes flick over to him, and he mouths, ‘Trust me.’

The detective opens the file and scans through a few of the sheets of paper and then closes the file again. “Well, Mr Emrys, I don’t think that they’ll be relevant in the case of your partner’s death. But I can certainly take these just in case and have another colleague look into it. Thank you.”

She opens her briefcase and puts the file away before continuing, “So, as far as you know, Arthur was with Miss Smith all evening until their fight, then he left the room with Mrs King? That’s all you know about his movements?”

Merlin nods his head in agreement. 

“And for yourself, you arrived with Mr Pendragon and Miss Smith, and then spoke with the other guests and came back to them?”

“Y-yes,” agrees Merlin, hesitating slightly as his mind flits back to the moment in the hallway with Gwaine. But DS Godwin doesn’t need to know about that.

The detective eyes him suspiciously. “That is what happened, isn’t it?”

Merlin swallows and nods. He’s not about to spill the details of his love life (or mostly lack thereof) to a complete stranger. Especially not with Arthur sitting right there across from him. He’s gone to great pains to never mention anything about who or what he might be doing, love wise, ever since Arthur started dating Gwen.

“Yes, I mingled with some of the other guests for a while, but then went back to Arthur and Gwen.” 

Arthur snorts. _“Is_ that _what they’re call it these days?”_

Merlin glares at him and opens his mouth to retort, before remembering DS Godwin is there and watching him rather strangely. He closes his mouth and she looks back at her notes. 

“Do you think any of the people you spoke with would have motive to kill Arthur?”

“No. I don’t think any of them even spoke with him extensively, except for Morgause. I’m sorry.”

The detective closes her notebook and puts it back in her pocket. She extends her hand to him. “Well, thank you very much for your time, Mr Emrys. I really appreciate it. I do wish you would reconsider telling me about your case with Mr King, though, so that I can help to rule out suspects in our investigation.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows at her over his coffee mug as he finishes off his drink. “Once you bring me that warrant, Detective Sergeant.” He looks down at her hand and after a pause, reaches out to shake it. 

“Thank you again, Mr Emrys. I am sure I will be seeing you again with further questions soon.”

He smiles at her. “Looking forward to it. Goodbye, DS Godwin.”

As the door swings closed after her with a jangle of the bell, Arthur hops down off of the desk. 

“So, who do _you_ reckon killed me?”

Merlin sighs deeply. “I don’t know. And it doesn’t sound like the police have any leads, does it?”

Arthur shakes his head and starts to pace. “Who’s on our list?”

“Um,” says Merlin, filing through a mess of sheets on his desk before he finds the right one. “Cenred King, because he’s creepy and has an excess of art but no funds for it. Morgause King, because maybe she knew that Cenred had hired us. The man at the sandwich place on West Street, because of the way you always aggressively accused him of making your sandwich incorrectly...”

“But he _did_ , Merlin. Every time. He did it on _purpose_. You’re right to have him on the list. He has it out for me,” agrees Arthur with a nod. He motions for Merlin to carry on. “Who else?”

“Um…” Merlin bites his lip. “I think that’s about it.”

“Really?”

“What, do you want a bunch of people lining up to kill you?” asks Merlin in disbelief. He couldn’t even hazard a guess, really, as to who would want to hurt Arthur. The very idea is unthinkable to him. He knows he’s letting his heart rule his head too much, and so he pushes his feelings aside and thinks. “Maybe we can have a look over the guest list for Cenred’s party, if we can get it? In the meantime, let’s see if we can find out more about the people who work at Blackwater Investments. You went around and got all their names, right?” Arthur nods in response. “We’ve know that Blackwater Industries has _something_ to do with art sales, and the way that they do it seems a bit… fishy at best, and these files along with the stuff we found on the hard drive from Jonas Wentworth’s,” Merlin gestures to the pile next to him on the desk, “show all kinds of suspicious monetary transactions.”

Arthur nods his head. “But how does that matter if we can’t prove anything? We still don’t know what their intentions are. Maybe Geoffrey just made a bad investment.”

“I was going to come to that. I’ve been doing some reading. It turns out, fine art is often used for _money laundering_.”

“What? We don’t have any proof of that.”

“No,” says Merlin, tapping a finger against his lip, his eyes unfocused, deep in thought. “We don’t. But in cases of money laundering, cash can be used to purchase genuine art objects for _outrageous_ sums of money. Then the objects are kept to act as “vaults” to “store” the dirty money. Then, when necessary, the art can be sold in auctions around the world to generate legitimate profit, which then gets taxed and everything seems totally above board. And who do we know has lot of expensive, impressive art?” asks Merlin, turning his eyes on Arthur as he smirks and raises an eyebrow.

“Cenred King!” says Arthur, his face suddenly lighting up. “Plus there were all those paintings and vases, sculptures in Blackwater Industries. Why would they have them there if not for that?”

“Yeah,” agrees Merlin. “It makes sense, right? These things are so fragile, they’d want to keep it all somewhere safe and out of sight. We just don’t have any proof who’s behind it all.”

“Yet,” adds Arthur.

“Yet,” Merlin agrees. “But,” he continues, getting up from his desk. “Someone out there seems pretty concerned about our involvement, given how determined they were to run us off the road after you stole their data the other week. So I can’t help but think we are onto something. We have lots of leads, so I don’t think we need despair just yet. We’ll keep working on it. Plus, there’s plenty of other stuff we can look into, like the party guests. We don’t even necessarily know that it’s the people involved in Blackwater Industries—maybe it’s the investors who are crooked, not just the company. We shouldn’t rule anyone out yet.”

Arthur steeples his hands and places his index fingers against his lips as he walks back and forth across the office, and it’s such an imitation of him as he was in life that it wrenches at Merlin’s heart, and he has to look away.

“Good point. Let’s try to get ahold of a list of names and see what we can dig up on them this morning,” Arthur says finally. “Maybe DS Godwin will share them with us. If not...If not, then this afternoon I think you should pay a visit to Cenred King. Don’t you?”

Merlin looks up at him sharply. “Oh no,” he says. “No way, Arthur.”

Arthur grins. “Oh yes, Merlin.”

“Arthur, he’s a slimy, smarmy, greasy, grabby git!”

Arthur pouts at him, and it’s so fucking adorable Merlin knows then and there that he’s going to fold and do what Arthur asks of him. He’d thought he would be immune to that pout by now–Arthur’s certainly used it on him often enough. But no, if anything, its very familiarity makes Merlin cave even faster than it used to. “He’s also our prime suspect in this possible money-laundering scheme we might have uncovered. Plus, we might need to sweet talk him into giving us the names of the people at the party.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” he says, giving Arthur a pout of his own. Arthur reaches out a hand to ruffle his hair in a familiar gesture, only for it to pass through Merlin’s head. He jolts as he feels… something… brush against his magic. “Oi, watch it!” he exclaims.

“Sorry,” apologizes Arthur looking down at his hands, a sad little frown wrinkling his forehead.

“Come on,” says Merlin, gesturing to the chair next to him. “Let’s get on with it.”

Merlin pulls on the handbrake after he brings the car to a stop, turning the keys to kill the engine. He closes his eyes and breathes in and out, in and out, trying to remind himself why he’s back at creepy Cenred’s mansion again. They _need_ to find out more about his art and get that guest list. DS Godwin had been as stubborn as he was when it came to giving up information without good cause.

Arthur sticks his head straight through the window. “Come on, Merlin. We haven’t got all day.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and opens the car door, pushing it through Arthur’s body. He ripples and shakes in the door’s wake.

“Hey!” he exclaims. Then he looks Merlin up and down and makes a face. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Merlin looks down at his clothing. Trainers, his most comfortable jeans and a red hoodie–nothing wrong with any of those. “Yes?”

“What about those jeans you have?”

Merlin stares at Arthur, confused. “I am wearing jeans.”

“Not those ones, the black skinny ones that— you know… that you sometimes wear when we go out clubbing.”

“But I’m not going clubbing…” says Merlin perplexed by Arthur’s comment. Arthur is looking at him weirdly, and he’s not sure if he likes it or not. 

He does know the jeans that Arthur is referring to, though. They’re what he refers to in his head as his ‘guaranteed-to-pull jeans’: super skinny ones that emphasise his long legs and hug his arse in all the right places. Though if Arthur thought he was going to wear them around slimy Cenred...! That perv hardly needs any more encouraging as far as Merlin is concerned. No thanks, he’ll stick to his regular comfy jeans and an old hoodie.

“No, you’re not going clubbing,” agrees Arthur. “But you could have at least made an effort, I mean honestly…” He looks Merlin up and down again, and Merlin squirms under his gaze. “Don’t you think you could have worn something other than the oldest clothing you own? I mean, even though he’s a suspect, he’s still a client.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and closes the car door. He walks up the drive to knock at the huge, imposing door, then waits for it to open with his hands in his pockets, Arthur standing by his side.

“You remember the plan right?” Arthur asks. He moves his arm as if to nudge Merlin in the ribs, and then stops short as he remembers that he’s a ghost. 

Merlin’s heart hurts. Why had he never realised how much he liked the silly rough-housing? Probably because it was too dangerous; to think about it would be to acknowledge something that Merlin has known for so many years now, but which he has always kept tightly locked away. No need to let it slip now that Arthur’s deceased.

“I know what _your_ plan is. But I said before, I’m not going to do it.”

“Oh come on, Merlin. The one time we have a bisexual man to seduce… You’re always saying you can’t seduce the women because you’re gay. Well, here’s your chance!”

Merlin turns his head and glares at him. “Do you ever actually listen to yourself?” he asks. “Because if you did, you’d realise just how offensive that was.”

Turning his gaze back to the door as they wait in an awkward silence, Merlin fumes inwardly. So that’s what Arthur really thinks of him, huh? The token gay, useful so long as he’s willing to flirt with men for information. Heaven forbid they actually use genuine investigative techniques to get the details they need, like proper detectives, rather than just trying to seduce everyone.

“Merlin,” Arthur begins tentatively. “You know I didn’t mean it like that...”

Merlin ignores him, straightening himself up as he hears someone start to open the door.

“Merlin, just let m—”

“Later,” Merlin hisses, earning himself a weird look from the smartly-dressed older gentleman dressed who has just opened the door. “Um. I mean, hi! I’m here to see Cenred?” The man gives him a blank look. “Mr King?” Merlin tries.

The man–probably a butler of some sort–continues to look down his nose at Merlin, his eyes raking over Merlin’s shabby clothes showing his obvious disdain at Merlin’s appearance. “Do you have an appointment to see Mr King?” he finally asks snootily.

Merlin shakes his head. “No, I don’t—” The man makes to close the door, and Merlin shoves his foot into the gap, grimacing at the pain as the door bangs against his instep. “He’ll see me, I promise. I’m working for him!”

The look the old man gives Merlin makes it clear what he thinks about that.

“Please? I won’t be long. If Mr King doesn’t want me here, I’ll leave.”

With a long-suffering sigh, the man opens the door and gestures for Merlin to come in. “Please wait. Mr King will be here presently.”

Merlin is left waiting with Arthur in the hallway. It opens out into a huge reception room, with a modernist take on a grand staircase rising from the centre. It looks so strange now, so open and deserted, when not too long ago it had been thrumming with voices and music and laughter. So many bright and vibrant people. So full of fun and life. And then, all of a sudden, the whole world had been ripped out from beneath Merlin’s feet. 

Merlin shivers involuntarily as he realises that this is the last place he’d seen Arthur alive. Arthur has fallen uncharacteristically silent too, and Merlin wonders if he is thinking the same thing.

“Ah, Mr Emrys!” calls out Cenred from across the room. 

Merlin looks up and has to suppress a wince. There, in one of the many doorways leading off the entrance hall, stands Cenred King. Creepy as ever with his dark, greasy hair, a black shirt, unbuttoned so far that he might as well just leave it open, and to complete the ensemble, tight leather trousers and biker boots. Oh god. How had he let Arthur talk him into this again?

Merlin forces himself to smile and slowly walks over to him. “Mr King, thank you for seeing us—me!” He extends his hand to Cenred, who grasps it and pulls Merlin close so that he can hug him, thumping him hard on the back.

“So formal, Mr Emrys. Please, call me Cenred,” he says, releasing Merlin from his grasp. “I hope I might call you Merlin in return?”

“Um, yeah, I s’pose,” says Merlin with a shrug.

He shifts uneasily as he realises that Cenred is looking him up and down and is suddenly extremely glad he’s wearing all of his oldest and most comfortable things, and not something nicer for Cenred to creep on.

“Wonderful, Merlin,” Cenred says with a predatory grin. “Shall we go into my office?”

Merlin smothers a sigh. He doesn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. “Sure,” he says, with a reluctant nod.

He cringes inwardly when Cenred puts his hand on the small of his back, but when he glances over his shoulder at Arthur to telegraph his distress, instead of seeing him looking like he’s enjoying Merlin’s discomfort, as he’d expected, Arthur looks… angry? Merlin’s forehead creases in confusion as Cenred guides him down the corridor that he knows leads to his private art-gallery-cum-office.

When they reach the door, Cenred keys in a code and presses his thumb against the pad. “Can never be too careful,” he quips cheerfully, pushing it open.

He gestures for Merlin to go inside, and when Merlin looks back at him, he sees Cenred’s eyes flick from his arse to his eyes like he’s been caught out. Merlin feels his cheeks burning with embarrassment, and he knows from the sudden heat that his ears are glowing a bright red too.

“Take a seat, Merlin,” says Cenred, settling down behind his desk.

Merlin sits down cautiously, casting his eyes around the room for Arthur, who is walking around the art displays, exclaiming his surprise every time he recognises a piece. Merlin feels his lips curve into a smile.

“Ah, still admiring my art, I see,” says Cenred, as he follows Merlin’s gaze. “Have you come to take me up on my offer?”

Merlin tears his eyes away from Arthur. “What?” he asks with confusion. “No! I came to update you on your case, Mr King.”

“Oh?” asks Cenred, curiously. “I didn’t think that you’d even still be focused on that. I was most surprised—pleasantly, of course—to see you, Merlin. It can’t be easy carrying on after the death of your partner. My sincere condolences. If there’s anything that I can do, please, just ask.”

Merlin nods his head, trying to subtly glance at the papers spread across Cenred’s desk as he does so, hoping for a glimpse of the familiar Blackwater Investments logo. “Thanks. It’s been… It’s been tough. But I think—I think I just need to keep going and carry on.”

He glances up to see Cenred eyeing him with amusement. Merlin feels a bit sick, and his magic is skittish. Had Cenred noticed what he was trying to do? But Cenred merely nods his head in agreement. 

“Yes, sometimes that is the best way. A little distraction can be good for the mind and soul. So, you have news about Morgause?”

Merlin bites his lip. He hadn’t really thought this far ahead. All he’d wanted to do was get Cenred off his case with the perving and change the subject. He licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “Um, well, I came to tell you about the enquiries we made at the party. I uh, spoke with Gwaine Greene, and ascertained that he is not sleeping with your wife.” It’s not completely a lie; he had asked Gwaine if he was seeing anyone else, and Gwaine had said no.

Arthur snorts from behind him. _“I rather think your mouths were too busy for talking, Merlin,”_ he mutters.

Merlin can feel himself blushing again. “And, uh—Arthur went off with Morgause, but she never tried to proposition him, and he didn’t get the impression that she was willing to cheat from his conversation with her. Of course, this doesn’t mean that she’s _not_ cheating on you,” he reassures Cenred. “Just that, as of yet, we’ve not seen any of the signs that tend to indicate it. However, this was just an initial meeting for us. We will be— I mean, _I_ will be doing more investigation in due course. But I was calling to, uh, apologise about the delay and let you know that, whilst your case is still a priority, my progress on the case might be slower due to reduced capacity. I was also wondering if you might be able to provide me with a guest list for the party. I wanted to, uh, speak to them and see if there was anyone else Morgause might be—close to.”

Cenred rubs his beard thoughtfully. On him, the style looks fairly distinguished, but a memory suddenly pops into Merlin’s head of a time when Arthur had tried to grow a beard and failed miserably. It had been terrible. Arthur just didn’t (and still doesn’t) have the facial hair for it, and he had been most annoyed when Merlin had grown a luscious full beard of his own in a fraction of the time it had taken Arthur to grow his straggly, patchy one. 

“How very thoughtful of you to stop by, Merlin, especially at such a difficult time. I’m very appreciative that you came over here in person, rather than calling or emailing. It’s so much more… _personal_. Of course, I can arrange for a guest list from the party. I’ll have George fetch a copy.” He presses a button on the intercom on his desk. “George, please fetch me a list of the guests at the launch party for Morgause’s summer collection. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Well…” begins Merlin, wetting his lips. “I was just thinking about how you have this room very well secured, obviously because of all the art. Do you have similar security measures for the rest of the house?”

“Naturally. You can’t be too careful these days. I have the best system that money can buy: CCTV monitoring around the perimeters of the grounds and around the house, iris recognition as well as code locks on the doors to the property. Even this room is equipped to become a panic room, should the need ever arise. Not that I imagine it ever would. But it is where I keep my most prized and valuable possessions.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any CCTV footage from the night that Arthur died , would you? The police suspect that there might have been foul play, and I was wondering if your system might have caught something,” Merlin asks. He knows that he’s probably pushing it, but he glances up from beneath his eyelashes at Cenred, not above using a mild bit of flirting to help him get his way.

Cenred sighs. “I wish I could, but unfortunately the police have already procured all the footage from that night with a warrant. I cannot help you.”

Merlin could kick himself for not coming sooner. He shouldn’t have let his own feelings about Cenred push him away from coming here. It should have been his first port of call after he’d learned that Arthur had been murdered; he might have beaten the police to it. As it is, however, he highly doubts DS Godwin will be willing to share. She’d already told Merlin to back off and let the police deal with Arthur’s murder when he’d asked her for the guest list. 

“Now that business is taken care of, Merlin, how about I get you a drink?”

“Oh! No–no, thank you, Mr King. I’m driving,” Merlin explains.

Cenred rises from his seat and goes to pour himself a large measure of whisky, then pushes all the papers on the desk to one side and perches there himself, scuppering any chance Merlin has of getting a good look at his files. He looks down at Merlin, his dark eyes sparkling with interest. 

“So,” Cenred says, circling a finger around the rim of his glass. “I was wondering if you’d had time to think again about my offer. It still stands you know. You are so… _striking_. All that pale skin, the dark hair, and those _gorgeous cheekbones_ –it would be a pleasure to paint you, and a sin not to.”

Merlin flinches away from his touch, his magic squirming beneath his skin as if it wants out. Its discomfort is in sync with his own, and he tries to think of a graceful way out of the situation, terrified that his magic will lash out at Cenred if he so much as breathes on him, let alone touches him.

Suddenly, Arthur is right by his side. _“Oh, is he hitting on you already? Wow, be careful. He looks skeevy. But... maybe go with it? We_ do _need to find out about his involvement with Blackwater Investments, after all!”_

Merlin glances over at him with a sharp glare. “When I want—“ He stops mid-sentence, realising Cenred is giving him a confused look. “Uh—what I _meant_ to say was, would you mind showing me some more of your art collection? I don’t really think I’m cut out for modelling for portraits.” Merlin smiles at Cenred uneasily and manages to slip past him, escaping from the desk. He walks over to an empty plinth that he was sure had had a statue on it the last time he was here. “What happened to this sculpture?” he asks, gesturing towards the free space.

“Ah, I sold it on to free up a bit of space for a new project. It was time for it to move on to a new owner,” says Cenred. “I’ll find something else to replace it with soon.”

“Mmm,” agrees Merlin absent-mindedly. He moves on to examine the statue next to the empty spot. “How did you find this one? I like how… stone-y it is…”

Cenred strolls over to him and lovingly caresses the statue. “Ah yes, well, this little beauty caught my eye at a party in Monaco several years ago. Took a bit of haggling, but I managed to persuade my friend to sell it to me. It was one of the earlier pieces of my collection.” He gives a sudden exclamation. “Oh, but I _must_ show you this!”

He unlocks a nearby drawer and pulls out a sketch of a man on the bank of a pond, reaching his hand out to the water. “Do you know Woodhouse?” he asks.

 _“Yes!”_ states Arthur enthusiastically, craning his neck to get a look at the drawing.

Merlin rolls his eyes at Arthur’s excitement. “No, I don’t. I mean, I’ve heard the name. But I’m not really familiar with him…” Then it suddenly hits him why Cenred is showing him the sketch. The young man reaching into the water bears a remarkable resemblance to himself. “He looks like me!” says Merlin with astonishment.

 _“Let me see!”_ Arthur moves forward, his ghostly form almost pressed up against Merlin. He can feel the weird aura that surrounds Arthur buzzing against his skin, as if it’s somehow reacting to his own magic. It seems impossible, but Merlin makes a mental note to ask Gaius about it later. _“Oh, wow. That’s a sketch of Hylas. He’s right Merlin!”_ Arthur looks at Merlin’s profile and then back at the picture. _“It’s the spitting image. Right down to the ears,”_ he adds, grinning broadly.

Cenred is nodding. “Yes, exactly why I wanted to show you. The resemblance is _most_ uncanny. Hylas and the Nymphs! It’s not Waterhouse’s most famous work, mind you. But certainly _my favourite_. Hylas was the lover of Heracles, did you know? He only plays a small part in the legend of Jason and the Argonauts, but he was known to be a very handsome youth.” Cenred eyes Merlin up and down again. “I have to say, I quite agree.”

 _“God, he’s creepily persistent. I see what you mean now,”_ says Arthur.

Merlin ignores him and starts taking small steps away from Cenred. “Uh, you do know I’m not actually Hylas, don’t you? The painting just happens to look a bit like me?”

Cenred lets out a boisterous laugh. “Of course I know that, Merlin. Come, let’s look at some of the other pieces I’ve acquired!”

Merlin and Arthur follow behind him. 

_“I think he trusts you, Merls,”_ says Arthur. _“Ask a few questions, see if you can’t get him to part with some important information.”_

Merlin nods, clearing his throat and smiling at Cenred. “This is all so amazing, Cenred. How do you afford it all? Most rock stars end up blowing their fortunes on sex, drugs, and alcohol.”

Cenred turns and looks at him, a big grin on his face. “Ah well, good investments, Merlin. You have to at least have one eye on the future, after all, the song royalties won’t maintain my lifestyle forever. And I can’t think of any better way to invest my money than in art!”

Merlin pretends to examine a painting while Arthur whispers in his ear, _“That looks like a Monet, but not one I’ve seen before. Must be something from a private collector.”_

Merlin looks at Cenred out of the corner of his eye and gives him a sly smile, as if to say: it’s all right, you can tell me. “But _really_? Enough to buy a Van Gogh?”

Cenred shares a smile with him. This is good. Merlin is building trust with him, without having to let Cenred paw at him. “Well…” Cenred says waggling his eyebrows, “as I was saying, I’ve got _good_ advisors.”

“Yeah?” asks Merlin. “Perhaps I should give them a call, see what they can do for me. I, uh, have some money I’ve been thinking about investing.” 

God, why was it so difficult lying to Cenred? He’d been able to do it the other day as Mr Evans. Perhaps it was easier to lie when you could pretend to be someone else altogether. He just hopes he’s not given away too much that lets Cenred know that he already knows who his advisors are. 

Cenred’s grin turns predatory, and Merlin focuses for a second on pushing his magic down and holding it back, like he used to when he was angry as a kid. 

“I believe I can arrange that. Maybe we can talk about it after a bike ride. I have an amazing motorbike collection too out in the garage. I’ll let you take your pick!”

“Oh, um. Motorbikes?” Well, that goes some way to explaining the obscenely tight leather trousers Cenred is sporting. “Not really my thing,” says Merlin starting to slowly siddle away from him.

“No?” Cenred replies. “Well then, perhaps you’d like to talk over the finer details over dinner tonight, instead?”

“Oh, uh, tonight?” Merlin asks, casting his eyes over to Arthur and silently begging him for an excuse as to why he’s not free tonight. 

But Arthur just nods his head towards Cenred. _“Come on, Merlin. We want to find out more about Blackwater Investments, and this is the perfect way to get information from Cenred!”_ More like the perfect way to get groped by him, Merlin thinks.

“I’m not feeling all that great.” It’s no a lie—his magic is still unsettled and he feels a bit sick from it. “Let me get back to you.” He makes a big show about getting his phone out to look at the time. “Sorry, Cenred, I—um, I need to get to another appointment. But, raincheck on that meeting?” Merlin starts to walk backwards towards the door.

“Of course. Here!” Cenred reaches into his way-too-tight-to-be-healthy leather trousers and pulls out a wallet. He opens it and takes out a business card. “It has my personal number on the back.” He grins and winks at Merlin, who is a tiny bit sick in his mouth. “Feel free to give me a call anytime.”

Merlin snatches the card with his fingertips and shoves it hastily into his pocket. “Sure,” he says. He needs to get out of here. If he doesn’t get away from Cenred soon, he’s going to be sick or have a magical outburst. It’s been _years_ since that’s happened, and he sure as hell doesn’t intend for it to happen here.

He finally manages to escape and dashes out of the house, into the safety of his car. He presses his forehead to the steering wheel, hoping that now that he’s free from Cenred he’ll start feeling better again. A sudden surge of warmth and comfort touches his side.

“Hey,” says Arthur, who seems to have materialised right into the car—he must be getting better at this ghost thing. The good feelings radiating from Arthur immediately begin to soothe Merlin’s magic so that it’s calm and happy again, humming with contentment under his skin. His magic has always loved Arthur, even if Merlin himself hadn’t been able to stand him at first. Though they had started off as enemies, his magic had called out to Arthur from the start, and it had been inevitable that they’d eventually ended up as best friends. Merlin thinks that Arthur feels that same pull too, even if he won’t acknowledge it. There has always been an underlying _tension_ to their relationship. “Are you okay? You’re looking really peaky, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs and let’s the feeling of what he can only assume is Arthur flow over him. His magic finally seems to be getting back to normal, and the nausea is slowly receding. It feels so good to be here in the car with Arthur, just the two of them. He pulls himself upright.

“Feeling better than I was,” he says truthfully.

“Are you sure? I hope you’re not coming down with something. That could really hamper our investigation.”

Merlin looks over at him and glares. “Well, I’d hate to be an inconvenience to you. Maybe you should do your own flirting with perverted men next time.” Merlin grabs his seatbelt and yanks it angrily, causing it to jam. He carelessly uses his magic to release it so that he can buckle up, then hastily starts the engine and releases the handbrake.

“Merlin!” says Arthur. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Then how did you mean it, Arthur? Because you've been nothing but insulting ever since we got to Cenred’s. I’m not your slave, nor your manservant. I’m supposed to be your friend.” Merlin thrusts the gear stick into reverse and pulls out onto the road too quickly to be safe. He knows that he’s being reckless and that he shouldn’t be driving when this incensed, but Arthur really has been grating on his last nerve this afternoon. 

He wants to go home, but if he does, Arthur will be there too. Just yesterday Merlin had asked him where he was when he wasn’t with Merlin and Arthur just said he was nowhere. It had confused Merlin, and he worried that maybe this meant Arthur was a figment of his imagination after all. Maybe Gwen had been right, and the grief of losing Arthur had made him imagine this one. But then Arthur had explained that when he’s not around Merlin, he ends up in the void. And it’s just… there. A vast plain of nothingness. No colours, not shapes, no smells, no wind, no weather. Just Arthur and silence. Though he hadn’t said anything at the time, Merlin knows Arthur, and he can tell that this ‘void’ place scares him. Even if he is being a prat, the thought of sending him back there makes Merlin’s heart hurt. But he’s not ready to have Arthur back in his personal space again just yet. A mutual space like the office would be better.

“Of course you’re my friend, Merlin. My best friend. It’s just frustrating to not be able to do anything for myself. I mean, no one else but you can see me. I can’t affect anything. If I didn’t have you to talk to, I think I would go insane.”

“Go insane? Like you’re not already a bit bonkers?” 

“You drive me bonkers.”

Merlin glanced over and huffed out a laugh in spite of himself. “Let’s get back to the office, yeah?”

“Yeah, all right.”

By the time they find a place to leave the car that isn’t too far from their building (parking in front of the office is a nightmare during the week), Merlin and Arthur are both laughing again, their disagreement forgotten. At some point, the conversation had turned towards other bad ideas Arthur had had over the years, causing him to recount the time that Merlin had stuck his head through the playground fence at the park near their school.

It had been fairly early on in their friendship, and Arthur had bet Merlin that he couldn’t fit his head through the fence. Of course, Merlin was never going to take that kind of taunting from Arthur, so he’d gone for it, but whilst he had succeeded on getting his head through the narrow metal bars, well, getting it back out again had proved to be more of an issue… At first, Arthur had found it funny, teasing Merlin about ‘being in the stocks’, until he had realised that Merlin wasn’t pretending, he really was stuck fast. A frantic 999 call from a nearby phone box and an hour later, Merlin had been cut free, and both boys had received stern lectures from Hunith about their behaviour. At the time, Merlin had been envious that Arthur’s father hadn’t so much as grounded him. As far as Merlin could tell, Arthur had received no punishment at all for their exploits, even though he was the one who had egged Merlin on. It had taken Merlin a few years to figure out that Arthur’s home life was vastly different from his own. Whilst his own mother cared deeply about what he did and how he behaved, Arthur’s father was either too busy with work, or simply did not care what Arthur got up to. As long as he didn’t get himself in trouble with the authorities or do anything that required his participation, Uther was content not to get involved. It was no wonder Arthur spent more time at Merlin’s house, having sleepovers in his pokey little room, than he did in the luxurious mansion his father owned. It was a roof over his head, but it had never seemed like a home.

They’re only one street away from their destination when it happens. There’s an alleyway here that Merlin sometimes uses to avoid people, or to get to their favourite coffee shop when he needs to be quick, and as he passes it, he finds himself yanked off balance and dragged into the side street by his hoodie. A man presses him against the wall, and Merlin spots a flash of metal out of the corner of his eye before feeling the cool, sharp pressure of a blade against his neck. He starts to struggle, his magic surging beneath his skin, sparking and ready to attack.

“Don’t move,” growls the man, pressing the blade more firmly against his throat. It stings a little, and Merlin can feel a trickle of hot, wet blood running down his neck. Instantly he stops moving and closes his eyes as he frantically tries to rein his magic in. His chest is heaving and his heart hammers beneath his ribs. Is this how it’s all going to end? Is he going to end up lying here, abandoned, with his throat slit by some unknown assassin in the alleyway by his work?

 _“Merlin!”_ yells Arthur, lunging for the man. Predictably, he slides through him, and he stares at his hands and then at Merlin, obviously realising that he’s powerless to help.

“I have a message for you,” says the man. Merlin peels his eyes off of Arthur’s horrified face and takes a moment to look at his assailant. _Really look_ at him. He’s a detective, and he and Arthur have been training themselves to look for and remember important details in these kind of situations for years. He just has to remember to focus. 

The man is shorter than he is, but a lot stronger—he reminds Merlin of a bouncer, all hired muscle—at least without Merlin resorting to magic. He has dark brown eyes, and he’s Caucasian. From underneath his knit hat, near his ears, Merlin can see light brown hair, and he looks to be in his mid-thirties. He can’t see much else, as the man has a dark green bandana pulled up over his face, covering his nose and mouth. There is a small scar near his right eyebrow, but other than that he can’t make out any distinguishing features.

It’s hard to breathe with the way the man is gripping his hoodie and pressing against him, and it doesn’t help that his mouth has gone so dry, it feels like the Sahara. “What, uh, what’s the message?” 

“Drop your current case. Stop snooping and sticking your nose where it isn’t wanted.”

Merlin lets out an incredulous laugh—okay, so it’s more like a desperate giggle, not that he’d ever admit it—and closes his eyes for a moment. It’s the kind of thing you’d expect to hear in a TV show or something, not in the kind of life that Merlin leads. He spends his days writing emails, calling to make appointments with paranoid rich people, and hanging out with Arthur. He’s just a boring, average bloke (if you don’t include the magic, and since Merlin rarely gets to use it and only a handful of people know about it, he never does). Things like this shouldn’t happen to him.

“You leave him alone!” Arthur snarls and he swipes at Merlin’s attacker again, his face so filled with anger that Merlin can barely recognise him as his friend. It’s all pointless, of course, but Merlin is warmed by the gesture and the fact that Arthur just won’t stop trying to help. If he doesn’t make it out of this, at least he will have spent his last moments with Arthur.

Then the man stumbles, and the knife is knocked from his hand. He glances around, his eyes wide with surprise, and his eyes travel right over Arthur as he searches up and down the alleyway for the person who struck him. 

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, staring at Arthur in shock. What the _fuck_ had just happened?

Arthur is gesturing at him. _“For God’s sake, you idiot!”_ he hisses. _“Move. Run!”_. Coming to his senses, Merlin tries to slip from his attacker’s loosened grip, but he’s not fast enough. Within seconds, the man has regained his hold on Merlin’s shirt and slammed him back into the wall. Merlin winces at the blow to his head, and he thinks his vision might be blurring. Has it always been so difficult to draw breath? And has Arthur always been as translucent as that? Black spots tickle at the edge of his vision.

“If you don’t keep well enough away, I’ll be back,” the man says, shoving Merlin so that he rattles against the wall. “And trust me, I won’t me so nice next time.”

With one final push, the man releases Merlin, scoops up his knife from the ground and runs out of the alleyway. Merlin gasps and brings his hand to his throat; he hadn’t even realised that he was being choked. Then he touches the back of his head, where it throbs in time with his heart, and it feels sticky and warm with his own blood. Shit. What the fuck had that been about? He feels a bit woozy and he’s not sure he can stand up. To be honest, he doesn’t even really remember sitting down.

“Merlin? Merlin? Are you all right?”

Merlin squints. “Arthur?” he asks, because he’s sure it is Arthur. It _feels_ like Arthur, his magic tells him it’s Arthur, but his brain doesn’t really seem to be putting the pieces together. Finally, he manages to focus on Arthur’s face.

“Yes, it’s me, Merlin.” 

“Arthur,” Merlin replies with a stupid grin. “It IS you.”

Arthur nods. “‘Course it is. Now, can you get up? Then we can get you fixed up.”

Merlin hums and holds his hand out towards Arthur, who raises an eyebrow at him and makes a sweeping gesture down his body. _Mmm, that is niiice_ , Merlin’s brain helpfully supplies.

“Ghost, remember? Wait—did you just say nice?” 

Merlin groans and slowly hauls himself to his feet. “Yeah. I think I did.” He laughs shakily. “Dunno what I was thinking. Must have been the hit to the head.”

Arthur rolls his eyes at him. “Come on. Let’s get back to the office, if you’re sure you can get there in one piece.”

“I,” says Merlin, puffing out his chest and slurring his words slightly, “can get there perfectly fine.”

“Then go ahead.”

Merlin brushes past him, ignoring Arthur’s audible gasp as he shuffles down the alleyway. His head is pounding. He turns and starts to walk down the street.

“Hey, Merlin,” he hears Arthur yell after him. “The office is this way.”

“I knew that.”

Once Arthur has ushered Merlin safely inside the office, he breathes a sigh of relief. He wishes he could do more. Being dead and still _here_ for whatever bullshit reason is so ridiculously frustrating he just wants to yell and punch something. And what the fuck had happened in that alleyway? He had tried to stop that guy from hurting Merlin instinctively, even though he had no reason to expect to be any more effective than he had been the first time. But the second time… that had been different. For a brief moment, he’d been able to touch the knife, just long enough to knock it from the man’s grasp. Arthur still doesn’t know how how he’d managed to do it. And then, when Merlin brushed against him, Arthur is _sure_ he felt it. But how could he have? He reaches out his hand to touch his desk, and his fingers pass right through. He tries to grab it, but he can’t.

Arthur is drawn out of his thoughts by a groan from Merlin. He’s sitting slumped back in his chair at his desk, eyes closed. Arthur’s never been great at medical things. The extent of his knowledge comes from a first aid course he did in PSE class at school, and that was long ago now. He remembers something about not letting someone sleep when they have a concussion, though. He’s had a few footie mates take a knock in the head before, but none of them have acted like Merlin is.

“Merlin!” he calls out.

“Mmm,” Merlin hums, barely cracking his eyes open.

“Merlin, look at me,” says Arthur, walking over to him. “You need to stay awake. I think you might have a concussion, okay?” He crouches down next to Merlin’s chair. “Look at me.”

Merlin lolls his head, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s smiling. And it’s absolutely not at all adorable. “Arthur!” he exclaims happily.

“Merlin, focus on me, okay. Can you do that?”

Then Merlin fucking winks at him. “‘Course I can, Arthur. I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

Arthur allows himself a small smile. God, this version of Merlin is even cuter than drunk Merlin, the one Arthur’s had to drag home multiple times because his legs have reached the point where they refuse to cooperate. “Okay, all right then. So you’ll keep looking at me then, yeah? Now, listen carefully.” Merlin screws up his face in concentration, and a little triangle of creases appears on his brow that Arthur wants to smooth away with his fingers. “I think you need to get to hospital, Merlin.”

Merlin nods his head and obediently shoves a hand into his jeans to pull out his car keys. When he attempts to get up, he staggers.

“Hey, hey! Sit down. You can’t drive yourself in this state. We need to call someone. Gaius, maybe?”

Eyes closed again, Merlin shakes his head. “Nope, can’t. On holiday, ‘member?”

“Oh yes, I remember you saying the other day,” Arthur replies. “Maybe you should call 999, then?”

Merlin’s eyes spring open in panic. “No,” he says in a sudden moment of clarity. “Absolutely not.”

Arthur sighs. If he were able to touch things, he’d overrule that decision, or he’d drag Merlin kicking and screaming to his car and drive him himself. He’s not someone who sits around waiting for things to happen to him. He’s a doer. He _does_ things. He’s never liked to be still—in fact, he’s barely stopped moving since he learned to walk. At one time he’d entertained a secret desire to become a footballer, but that dream was soon quashed by his father, who had refused to allow him to attend any trials. Uther insisted that Arthur’s time was better spent studying so that he could get good grades and the right qualifications to go to Cambridge just like Uther had. 

Later, most of the sports clubs had given way to a daily routine of going to the gym or on a morning run. Arthur misses that. Maybe he can still do it though, and subject Merlin to a Sunday morning jog. All he’d have to do was hang out in Merlin’s bedroom being annoying until Merlin gave in. He had complained about it the whole time, but Arthur had been able to notice the difference in Merlin’s physique since they had started going out together. And really, part of the fun was listening to Merlin complain dramatically about how friends didn’t inflict Sunday morning jogs on their friends the whole way through. Whilst there were times when Arthur wondered what his life would have been like if he’d become a footballer, he was glad that he’d gone to Cambridge in the end. If he hadn’t, he’d never have met Gwen, or had all those years of happy memories with Merlin. He’d been the one who talked Arthur out of going somewhere else just to spite Uther, telling him to stop being stupid and contrary just to antagonise his father. Merlin always knew the right thing to say.

Merlin is dozing off again. Well, Arthur may not be able to do anything physically, but much like he could pester Merlin out of bed, he could at least keep Merlin awake and talking with him. “Why don’t you talk to me, keep yourself awake? I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to sleep right now.” 

Merlin’s eyes slit open again. “Talk about what?”

Perching himself on the edge of Merlin’s desk, Arthur grins. “Tell me about how we first met.”

Merlin gives him a withering look. “Oh God, Arthur. Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Arthur smiles. “Come on. You love this story.”

Merlin exhales loudly, nodding his head in agreement. “It’s true. I do.” Arthur widens his eyes and raises his eyebrows encouragingly. “Oh, yeah,” exclaims Merlin. “Well, it all started in the library didn’t it? There I was, waiting in line with my textbooks. Music on my MP3 player.” Arthur snorts. “Shh, it was good for the time.”

“It was terrible for the time, and you know it,” Arthur disagrees.

Merlin smiles fondly at him. “Yeah, it was a bit shit, wasn’t it? Could only hold 30 songs, most of them ripped from CDs or downloaded from Napster.”

“Now _that_ is a blast from the past,” says Arthur with a laugh, shaking his head. How long ago that seems now. He remembers spending hours downloading and organising his favourite tunes, all nice, tidy and orderly, when today he could access them all at the touch of a fingertip.

“Anyway,” says Merlin, ignoring Arthur in favour of continuing the story. “There I was, listening to my music, minding my own business, when I noticed the boy in front of me.” His lips curve into a smile and there’s a knowing look in his eyes as he glances up at Arthur. “Kind of average height. Blond hair, blue eyes. Nothing special.”

“Oi,” exclaims Arthur. “I’ll have you know that I was, and still am, gorgeous!”

“We weren’t even teenagers, Arthur! I wasn’t thinking like that,” exclaims Merlin. Arthur laughs again and quirks an eyebrow at him. “ All right. Fine.” Merlin pauses again, his tongue poking out to lick his plush, red lips, Arthur follows the movement with eager eyes. Merlin’s lips have always looked so… No. Arthur clamps down on that thought like he always does. Sometimes, when the night is at its darkest and Arthur cannot sleep, it rises to the top of his consciousness and he allows it voice. But it would be scary and dangerous and wrong to allow it to rise unbidden into his thoughts during the day time. Especially after Gwen. He’s had _dreams_ about those lips, fantasies about what they can do, except… they’re not _quite_ fantasies are they? Because Arthur _knows_.

“...Anyway, I was listening to music, blah, blah and I looked up and notice this _gorgeous blond prat_ ,” Merlin makes a swooning motion, clasping his hands to his chest and fluttering his eyelashes, which makes Arthur chuckle, “standing in front of me. And how did I know he was a prat, you ask?” he continues. With a great deal of effort, Arthur wrenches his gaze away from Merlin’s lips and meets his eyes. Merlin smiles at him, and Arthur feels like his heart is flipping in his chest. Maybe he’s the one who’s got a concussion, instead of Merlin. Or maybe it’s catching. “Well, he was annoyed. More than annoyed really. I could hear him over the music. I wasn’t sure what had caused the argument, so I pulled out my earphones and listened.”

Arthur groans and rubs his face with his hand. He knows the next part of this story, and he’s not proud of it. But he was young, so, so young, and it’s how they met. He’d been fresh out of boarding school, thrown into a comprehensive school because his father thought he was far too full of airs and graces. Arthur had been left to fend for himself in a world that was completely foreign to him, right down to the way the other children spoke, and it had taken him a while to find his footing. At least reminding him of what an arrogant twat he was is keeping Merlin awake and talking, rather than sleeping with that head wound. 

“And what I heard was the most conceited, self-absorbed, entitled, pig-headed—”

“Don’t hold back, Merlin. Tell me how you _really felt_ ,” says Arthur, still offended even though it was years ago.

“Oh c’mon, Arthur. You _were_ a prat back then. Besides—you asked me to tell the story, so I’m tellin’ it.” Merlin is slurring a few words, so it’s certainly not the time to pick a fight, even though Merlin’s face and neck turn the most endearing shade of red when he gets hot under the collar. Arthur would wonder just how far that flush travels, but he’s seen it already. When Merlin is angry, it stays contained to his face and neck, red and blotchy with a high colour on his cheeks. But when he’s embarrassed, he turns a bright, bright red which travels across his cheeks and heats his ears so they’re bright red too, telegraphing his embarrassment to the rest of the world. And when he’s aroused… Shit, Arthur should _not_ know what his best friend looks like when he’s aroused. But he does, and he knows the way Merlin’s flushed face goes slack, the way he pants and gasps for breath at Arthur’s touch. He closes his eyes to will the memories away and shakes his head to clear it. Merlin misunderstands.

“What, you _did_ tell me to, so just let me, yeah?” Oh god those words. Those four little words. Arthur can hear them in his head: _just let me, yeah?_. Merlin looking up at him with his eyes blue and clear and so full of _lust_. If he still needed breath, Arthur is sure that he would be struggling for it, his chest heaving with that same feeling of urgency and want and desire, the way that they were both heady with it—drunk on it almost—that night that they… 

“Arthur?” asks Merlin, pressing a hand to his head with a small frown on his face. “Are you all right?”

Arthur swallows, his heart—does he have a heart?—in his throat, blocking him from breathing—though he doesn’t need breath—and choking him with emotion. “Yeah, I— I’m… I’m fine, Merlin.”

The bell above the door jangles. Arthur and Merlin both turn their heads towards the door. 

Merlin jumps and pulls his hand away from his injury, a strangely guilty expression on his face.

“Hey,” calls Gwen. “It’s only me!” Arthur watches as she hangs up her coat and scarf and then turns to see Merlin. “Oh my!” Her hand flies to her mouth in horror. “Merlin!” she exclaims hurrying over to him. “What happened? Let me—let me see.” She examines Merlin’s head and the small cut at his throat gingerly, and Merlin pulls a face, hissing at her touch. “Okay, I’m going to get the first aid kit, get you fixed up and then you can tell me what happened.”

She crosses over to the back of the office and searches in the cupboard, moving things around until she’s found the kit. When she returns to Merlin’s side, she pulls up a chair and gestures for him to sit in front of her. Arthur steps forward to help as Merlin struggles to his feet and then tumbles heavily into the chair.

“Okay, now. Let’s see...” Gwen lays out cotton wool, bandages, and plasters on the desk and then pours a bowl of water from the sink where they fill the kettle. She sets about cleaning the back of Merlin’s head, washing away the blood in gentle swipes of cotton which still have Merlin silently wincing and trying his best not to react.

 _“You’re doing great, Merlin,”_ says Arthur.

Merlin looks up at him and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, so Arthur knows he’s not really mad. Teasing is good. Teasing is what friends do. It’s what he and Merlin have always done, and Arthur is glad that’s never changed. Arthur watches the way that Gwen tends to Merlin, so gentle and caring. It’s part of what drew him to her in the first place. She’s just so lovely and nice. Too much so sometimes. He loves her. He does. But now that she can’t see him, he wonders if it’s even worth trying to get her to realise that he’s actually here, or whether that will just create yet more grief for Merlin.

Once Gwen pronounces that she’s done, and Merlin has been cleaned up, rubbed with ointment, and had a plaster applied to the cut on his neck, she sits down with him and passes him a cup of tea. Merlin looks better; the colour is coming back to his face—not that he really had much to begin with—and his eyes look less dazed. Arthur is hoping that his concussion is now mostly passed.

“So,” Gwen says. “I came over to pick your brains about something. The police came to question me the yesterday, and apparently I’m a suspect in Arthur’s death! Why would they think something like that?”

 _”What!”_ exclaims Arthur. _“How dare they ever suspect Gwen!”_

Merlin glances over at him, eyebrows raised. Arthur can tell he wants to talk out loud, but is refraining from doing so.

“They questioned you?” he says, turning back to Gwen. He’s sitting up straighter in his chair, seemingly more alert now. “What did they ask?”

“An officer came to our flat yesterday. DS Godwin, I think she said her name was? She asked me about the fight that Arthur and I had at the party.” Gwen bites her lip.

Merlin nods his head. “Yeah, she came and talked with me too. I did mention the fight, sorry. But I told her that it would never have been you. Never in a million years would it have been you. But I guess they needed to officially rule you out of their inquiries. What did she say?”

Gwen looks down at her hands. “She asked me exactly what the fight was about and what we said to each other.” Her breath hitches a little. “I mean, the last thing I said to him was ‘drop dead’. I can see why they’d think me capable of it.”

Merlin leans forward and places a hand over Gwen’s. “Gwen, it wasn’t your fault. Couples argue all the time.You weren’t to know what would happen. And look at me—I promised that I would take care of Arthur for you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I didn’t.” Merlin gives her hand one last squeeze before he sits back, wincing as his head hits the chair, his eyes unfocused.

Gwen sighs. “I know that it wasn’t my fault, just like it wasn’t yours. I just wish our last words had been different.” She clears her throat and raises her head. “Anyway, enough of that. I was wondering if you might be able to give me the name of the solicitor you and Arthur had on retainer? I just want to be sure that I’m saying the right things. Arthur always told me to be careful about what you say to the police.”

 _“There’s a business card for Caerleon and Sons in top left drawer of my desk.”_ Arthur tells Merlin, nodding down at the drawers next to him.

“Thanks,” Merlin murmurs and hauls himself up to go and get their contact information. “Here you go.” He opens the drawer and passes the card to Gwen before sitting back down. “Annis will take care of you.” Arthur notices him touching his head again and frowns.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Merlin?” Gwen asks, eyeing him with concern. “How did all this happen, anyway, I never asked?”

 _‘Mugging,’_ Arthur mouths to Merlin, though why he’s bothering to be quiet he’s not quite sure. Out of habit, he supposes. Sometimes it’s difficult for him to remember that he’s actually a ghost, until he finds himself reaching for something he can’t touch, or he catches a glimpse of the white suit he’s been adorned with since his death. He would change into something different, something that’s more _him_ , but there’s nothing he can wear. Apparently ghosts are cursed to wear the same outfit for all eternity.

“Oh, uh. Some guy tried to mug me. Got upset when I told him I was broke, but Arthur saved me. Knocked the knife right out of his hand. Then the man shoved my head against the wall and ran off. I’ll be fine, Gwen. Don’t worry.”

Gwen’s eyes start to glisten when Merlin mentions Arthur’s name.

“Oh, _Merlin_ ,” she says, her voice brimming with sympathy. She reaches out and takes his hand in hers this time, rubbing her thumb soothingly over his knuckles. Arthur feels a pang of regret and loss, that he’ll never get to feel Gwen do that again. That he’ll never he’ll never be able to feel anyone do that again. “Arthur is dead, sweetheart. He couldn’t possibly have saved you.”

Merlin opens his mouth, presumably to disagree, but Gwen continues.

“I know, I _know_ that this is tough. I do. But you have to accept it. He died, Merlin. I wasn’t going to say anything, but I was having lunch with Lancelot the other day and when I told him what you’ve been saying, well... I’m worried about you. Thinking that you can still see someone who is dead. Having conversations with them. Imagining them doing fantastical things. It’s not a good thing, Merlin! And there’s no harm in needing some help to get over things, to deal with them and get things straight in your head.”

Merlin pulls his hand out of Gwen’s as if he’s been burnt. “Gwen, I’m _not_ making this up, I swear! Arthur is here. He’s sitting right there.” He points to where Arthur is lounging in his chair behind his old desk.

“Merlin,” says Gwen, warningly. She tries to move closer, but Merlin shrinks away from her.

“I’m not crazy, Gwen. I know what I can see and hear. I know that it’s real.”

“Merlin,” Gwen attempts again. “I’m not saying that you’re crazy. I just… I think you’re grieving and you’re hurt and you’re missing him. Lancelot said that your brain is just making you think that you’re seeing and hearing these things as a way to cope, but they’re not real.”

“Gwen. Don’t,” says Merlin, shaking his head and holding his hand out to ensure she keeps her distance. “Please, please don’t. Just stop.”

“But I only want to help you! You’re obviously—you’re upset and you’re—”

Merlin cuts her off. “Don’t you say I’m grieving again, Gwen.”

“Please let me help you. Just—just go and see your doctor. Tell him about it.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows and looks over at Arthur.

 _“I’m sorry, Merlin. I don’t know what I can say to convince her, do you?”_ he responds. He wishes that he could help more, that he could give Merlin some piece of information that would make Gwen see sense and believe. He would love a reunion with Gwen, even if it was by proxy. If she’d just listen to Merlin and give him a chance, Arthur would be able to talk to her again. But she’s just not willing to listen. She always could be a bit stubborn sometimes when she’d decided on a matter.

Merlin sighs and shakes his head, and Gwen turns to see where Merlin’s looking. She looks right at Arthur, and yet not. Her eyes are roving and don’t focus on him. As before, she can’t see him.

“Please, Gwen. I value you as a friend,” says Merlin, and Arthur can tell that he’s angry because he’s gritting his teeth and his tone is cool and flat, with an underlying hint of steel. Merlin always was one for communicating how he felt through his voice—Arthur’s always been able to discern his true feelings from how he’s talked. “And as your friend, I’m asking you to drop it. Okay?”

Gwen shakes her head sadly and stands up. “Okay, fine. But just—just think about it, all right? And know that I’m always here if you want to talk.” She walks over to the coat stand and pulls on her coat. “Thanks for the information. I’m going back to Elyan’s tomorrow. I need to be with my family right now, and I think you should think about doing the same. Take care of yourself, Merlin. And promise me you’ll call the police about…” she gestures to his injury and wraps her scarf around her neck, “please?” Then she sighs. “Give me a call soon, yeah?” 

“Thanks, Gwen,” says Merlin, and Arthur knows that he means it. Gwen smiles tentatively at Merlin and waves before leaving the office, and Arthur’s eyes follow her as she walks down the street and out of view.

“You miss her, don’t you?” Merlin asks, startling him. 

Arthur turns his head and sees Merlin watching him. He shrugs. “I guess so. I mean… yeah. But, well. I don’t know. It feels different. I mean, is there any point if she can’t see me or feel me or talk to me?”

“I can keep trying. Maybe she’ll listen to me in time, when she’s ready to.”

“No,” says Arthur sharply. “You are _not_ to mention me to Gwen ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

Merlin shakes his head at him. “No, Arthur, I can—”

Arthur storms over to him. It angers him that Merlin would even risk being thought of as mentally ill. That he would put himself at risk of being institutionalised, like—like Morgana. 

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” he growls at Merlin, his voice low as he waves his finger at him warmingly. He swallows uneasily as he notices the way Merlin is staring at his finger, a blush staining his cheeks, his neck blotchy, extending down underneath the collar of his t-shirt. God. Arthur pushes the image from his mind. He can’t focus on it. Can’t process what it might mean right now. “I don’t want—” His voice starts to fail him and he pauses clear the lump of emotions that are clogging his throat. He won’t allow this. He can’t. He’s seen how being accused of madness changed Morgana. He won’t let it happen to Merlin. “I won’t have them thinking you’re going crazy, all right? If Gwen asks again, you don’t see me anymore, and you don’t talk to me. You were tired and mistaken.”

Merlin steps towards him, crowding into Arthur’s space, and Arthur can feel an insistent buzz and pull between the two of them. “I won’t deny your existence to others, Arthur. I’d rather have them think I’m mad than cut you off from the outside world!”

Arthur glares at him, and Merlin glares right back, Merlin’s eyes are narrowed, clear and bright, with his brow furrowed and his mouth set in a line. They appear to be at a standoff; it’s just a matter of who will hold out the longest.

Arthur is the one who breaks first. He really wants to get out of the office and head back to Merlin’s little flat. Chill out and have a few beers together. Well, that’s if he could drink. Either way, he’d much rather be in Merlin’s cramped, cosy flat, rather than in the boring old office together.

“Haha! You _blinked_ ,” Arthur exclaims, triumphant.

“What!?” splutters Merlin. “That’s not what we were doing!”

Arthur grins and turns to leave. “Oh, don’t be such a sore loser, Merlin. Now, come on, let’s get you home.”

Forty-five minutes later, Merlin is home and standing in the shower under a stream of water so hot, it burns. It hurts as it scorches his skin a bright red, but it’s a good pain. He needs it in order to understand, to realise that he’s really still alive. He’s in shock still. Or maybe he’s in shock again. That was close. Too close. Merlin sighs and rolls his shoulders to try and release the tension. He feels like it was a near miss, but had that really been the case? His heart still thuds, and he can feel his blood pumping in time with it in his head. He’d pushed his magic down, restrained it. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. He never wants to hurt anyone on account of his magic. He doesn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive himself if he did. But would he have been able to continue to repress his powers if the man had pressed harder against his neck with that knife? Merlin is so grateful that Arthur had stepped in and stopped him, made it so Merlin didn’t have to make the choice. And as a consequence, he’s here. Safe and sound in his flat, with Arthur.

Merlin groans and presses his forehead against the tiles, wincing as the hot water hits the tender spot on his head. What is he doing with his life? Arthur died. He’s dead, and _still_ he consumes every aspect of Merlin’s life. In fact, it’s worse now than it had been before. Before, when Arthur was alive, at least Merlin got to go home to his own flat, his own space that was separate from Arthur. In Merlin’s little safe haven, Arthur was just a fantasy, a beautiful, idealised man who was completely unattainable, and whom Merlin could choose to think about, or choose not to, if it suited him. Now that Arthur is dead and somehow back, Merlin gets no reprieve from him. He’s everywhere—at the office, in Merlin’s car, in his flat, around him 24/7—and Merlin is being driven to distraction. His days begin when he walks into his kitchen and finds Arthur standing there by the window, watching the world go by while he waits for Merlin, and they end with saying good night to Arthur on the sofa. It’s sickeningly domestic. Arthur sometimes goes so far as to barge in on him first thing in the morning to wake him up, leaving Merlin with a worse morning hard-on than usual and no means to get rid of it.

God. He has to get out of this flat and go on the pull. He needs to get out there again, put himself back on the market. Beltane, he thinks. It will be Beltane tomorrow. He’ll need to go out anyway. So he’ll make his excuses, maybe suggest to Arthur that he go off and see Gwen somehow, to check on how she’s managing without him, or to try and get her to see him. Then Merlin can go out on the pull without Arthur knowing—not because he’s ashamed of it, but because he knows that Arthur doesn’t really think of him that way. Hell, he doesn’t think Arthur really believes that Merlin has those kinds of needs, even though he really should know better. 

He smiles a little as he thinks about the box of sex toys he has stashed under the bed. They help him to get through his dry spells, but it’s honestly been ages since he’d last had a boyfriend, let alone a steady one he’d consider introducing to his circle of friends. And after the disaster that was Edwin, Merlin has refrained from letting anyone get too close. Instead he’d chosen to pine for Arthur and obsess over what he couldn’t have. He needs to move on, to get over Arthur and get on with his own life. That little kernel of hope he’d carried in his heart that they could potentially have more just that one night together had died along with Arthur, because how exactly would one go about dating and having a relationship with someone who was a ghost? Even if Arthur were interested, which he’s not; he’s made that perfectly clear given his radio silence after Barcelona. Merlin suspects that he’s blocked it from his mind. 

In any case, Merlin is sure that he’ll feel better once he’s had a nice shag. He normally likes to bottom, if he has the choice, but Beltane is different. At that time of year, his magic seems to take over his senses, driving his desires higher and giving him the urge to dominate his partner, to take instead of receive. It’s always quite relentless until he gives in and finds someone to shag.

He reaches down and squeezes his cock, half-hard from the vague, hazy memories of past Beltanes, of heat and passion, of the filthy kisses and the thrill of fucking and taking what he wants. They swirl around in his head, punctuated with occasional moments of clarity where he can almost feel the heady sensation of lips wrapped around his cock. He pictures his cock plunging in and out of his partner’s hole, imagining the way the magic would flow through him, unstoppable, until there was nothing that he could do but let it spill from him, let it lead the dance. He groans and slowly fucks into his fist, clutching at the tiles with his free hand. Gods, he can feel the familiar itch in his very veins already. It’s tolerable, for now, but he knows that soon… soon it will reach a crescendo, and he’ll be a slave to it all. Beltane can’t come fast enough. He lets out a small gasp, barely audible over the sound of the shower, as his orgasm suddenly washes over him, his muscles stiff and tense with it, and then he watches, dazed, as the water rinses his come down the drain. 

He turns off the water and grabs a towel, scrubbing his hair dry. Arthur had chivvied him into the bathroom when they’d returned from the office, claiming that he’d feel better once he’d had a shower, a snack, and some sleep. Add having a wank to that list and he supposes that it’s true. He’s already feeling better. He wraps the towel around his waist and pads out into the hall towards his bedroom.

“Oh, Merlin. Are you feeling—” Arthur begins, stopping short when he sees Merlin in the hallway. Merlin stands there, frozen, as Arthur’s eyes flick up and down his body, feeling exposed and vulnerable beneath the intense gaze. “Um—nevermind,” Arthur mumbles, turning away. 

Merlin stays there watching the back of Arthur’s head as he suddenly becomes extremely interested in _EastEnders_ on the TV, a show Arthur has always proclaimed his hatred of. What’s going on? Why is Arthur acting so… strangely towards him? He shivers as the cool air of the flat reminds him that he’s still damp and in a state of undress after his shower, and he slips into his room to change.

It’s gone midnight when Merlin is woken by a hammering on the door. He groans as he squints into the darkness, waiting for his eyes adjust. The knocking on his door continues, and Merlin huffs as he kicks back his duvet; he’d better go and let whoever it is in, otherwise he’s going to make himself an enemy of his neighbours. He pulls on pajama bottoms and makes his way to the door, yawning and running a hand through his hair.

“Who is it?” calls Arthur from the sofa. Merlin ignores him, determined to get to the door and stop that damn knocking. Just as he reaches it, the knocking comes again, louder this time.

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” he mumbles as he rubs at his eyes. He feels Arthur’s presence at his side, a faint humming that tickles at his magic. He isn’t going to bother with the peephole, his eyes still too unfocused, but Arthur stops him from opening the door by blocking his body with his ghostly form. 

“Are you mad?” he hisses. “Someone tried to kill you today! Wait a second and let me check who it is.” Arthur pokes his head through the wall to look out into the hallway, and then pulls it back in. “It’s Morgana. Why on earth is she here at this time of night?”

“Arthur,” groans Merlin. “Look, I don’t need you fussing over me like a mother hen. Why don’t you go to the spare room or something? I can see to whatever it is Morgana wants.”

Arthur pouts at him, and it looks like he’s going to argue when there’s a knock at the door again, and they hear Morgana’s voice. “Merlin? Are you in there?”

Merlin motions towards the hallway. “Go on. I don’t need you breathing down my neck.”

“Fine,” snaps Arthur and stalks away, giving Merlin a sharp stare over his shoulder as he goes.

Merlin throws open the door. “Yes, what is it?” 

“Oh, Merlin!” comes Morgana’s voice, and a pair of arms are thrown around his neck, so enthusiastically that he’s almost knocked off balance. It takes him a beat to register everything.

“Hi Morgana,” he croaks.

“Merlin, I’m so glad you’re in. Sorry to turn up so late, but I had nowhere else to go. I was going to stay with Gwen and Arthur, but when I went to their flat there was no one there, and I don’t have a key anymore. I didn’t know what to do. So I looked you up and came here.”

Merlin is baffled by the onslaught of voices and emotion, still not fully awake. “Hey, hey,” he says, patting her awkwardly on the back. ”S’all right. S’all right.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, pulling out of his arms. “I’m being silly.” She straightens herself up and composes herself, smoothing out her clothes. “What I _meant_ to ask was, could I come in for a while?”

Merlin nods. “Of course,” he says, opening the door wider so that Morgana can get past with her suitcase.

“Thanks, Merlin. You’re a true friend.”

Merlin closes the door behind her, pausing for a moment as it occurs to him to wonder how much Morgana knows. Whether or not Agravaine had given her the message about Arthur’s passing or not, she seems a little confused and frazzled. He hopes that’s just the result of traveling and being tired and not something deeper. He’d hate to see Morgana go straight back into the facility again. The very thought sends a chill down Merlin’s spine; being locked up like that is his worst nightmare, and Morgana has lived it. 

Back when she was a teenager, Morgana had started having dreams. Night terrors, the doctors called them. But they were more than that. Morgana had told them things that it was impossible for her to know, _because they hadn’t happened yet_. Merlin, being several years younger, hadn’t fully realised what was going on, but his mother had, and she had drilled into him to never, never tell anyone what he could do. It was imperative for him to hide his gifts from society at large, lest they judge him to be crazy. He hadn’t understood that, either, until he’d gotten older and realised what had happened with Morgana. 

Merlin was still hazy on the details, as no one would talk about it even now, but there had been a fire that had damaged an entire wing of the Pendragon estate, originating in Morgana’s room. She had been hysterical, claiming the fire had started on its own, and was labeled as a troubled teen. Uther had had her institutionalised–for her own protection, he’d said. Merlin’s lip curls with distaste; as far as he could see, the only thing Uther had wanted to protect was his reputation. He takes a deep breath, pulls himself up to his full height and turns to smile at Morgana.

“Tea?” he asks cheerfully as he makes his way to his small kitchen.

“That would be lovely, thank you, Merlin,” she says, following him in.

Merlin boils the kettle and enquires after her well-being. He’s intending to gently ask her a few leading questions to establish whether she does indeed know about Arthur’s death, but Morgana saves him the trouble.

“How are managing, Merlin? You must be feeling so awful,” she says with sympathy.

He laughs, and it’s twisted and hollow. “Me?” he asks derisively. “You’re his sister, Morgana. Family. I should be the one asking you.”

“Oh, come on, Merlin. I know how close you and my brother were.” Her voice is lilting and teasing now. So much like the old Morgana, as though she _knows_ how Merlin feels about Arthur. But she can’t, can she? She couldn’t possibly. Merlin dismisses the thought from his mind. “You were as thick as thieves, before Gwen came along. You can’t tell me this isn’t hard for you.”

Merlin turns away to make the tea so he doesn’t have to school his face for Morgana. She has an uncanny way of seeing right through Merlin and his lies. With his back towards Morgana, he risks heating the water with magic before pouring it out of the kettle, pushing time forward in the cups so that the tea is fully brewed by the time he’s got the milk. “I’m… I’m all right. Managing, you know. Getting on with it.”

Morgana hums. “If you say so, Merlin. I just… I want you to be happy, and I want you to be able to find someone, even if it’s not who you would like it to be.”

Merlin tries to smile at her. “I, um. I’d like that too. You know, find a nice guy, settle down. Do the whole house, dog and maybe even a kid one day. Hopefully I’ll find Mr Right eventually.”

He brings the tea to the table, realising as he does so that he’s ended up picking Arthur’s favourite Arsenal mug. He’s not sure if that was a conscious choice or not.

Morgana reaches out a hand to him, her cool, green eyes shining with sympathy. She makes to cover his hand with hers, but aborts the action at the last minute. “It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to feel sad that the door is now closed and any chance you guys had is officially over.”

“Geez, thanks Morgana,” Merlin mumbles to himself, staring down into his tea.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Morgana amends when he looks up at her again. She picks up her tea and starts blowing on it to cool it down. “I just wanted to be sure you’re that doing all right. I know that you love him.”

Merlin chokes on his own gulp of tea, and it sprays over the table between them. Once he’s significantly recovered, he manages to splutter a vicious denial. “I do _not_!”

Morgana shoots him a look. That I-don’t-believe-you-for-second-Merlin look. But thankfully—maybe it’s because of the pleading expression on his face—she let’s it drop. “Seriously, Merlin.” She covers his hand with hers in a rare tender gesture. “Are you sure you’re coping?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I _am_ fine.” He laughs awkwardly again. “I still feel like I’m the one who should be asking you. Are you—how are... Are you well?”

It’s Morgana’s turn to attempt a smile, thought it’s more of a grimace for a moment until it smooths out into something more pleasant. “I’m much better than I was. Aglain has released me for a few weeks, to see how things go. Arthur initially agreed to have me stay with him and Gwen when they thought I was going to be released in time for the wedding, but Aglain said he wanted to wait a bit before agreeing to such a long trip away. Are they doing okay? It’s unusual for them not to be home at such a late hour, surely. Are they still away on their honeymoon?”

Merlin frowns and bites his lip as he fiddles with the mug in his hand. He traces the number 10 on the team shirt—Wilshire was Arthur’s hero. Why is Morgana talking about Gwen AND Arthur and the wedding and everything as though—oh, good God! It hits him like a lorry. _She doesn’t know_. She doesn’t know that Arthur’s dead. “I saw Gwen earlier, at the office. But we had a bit of a…” he pauses and licks his lips, taking a moment to have a sip at his tea. “A bit of a disagreement. She might have been a bit upset when she left.”

“I see,” says Morgana, with a confused frown. “And I suppose it’s no use asking you what the disagreement was about?” She looks knowingly over the mug at him as she takes a sip of her tea.

“It’s okay. We’ll sort things out later and we’ll be fine, we always are.”

Morgana examines him shrewdly, as if she can see his inner thoughts. He hopes to the Gods that she can’t. What if her magical abilities extend to mind-reading? No, they can’t. Can they? Morgana is so knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the case. He starts to panic. “Honestly, it’s all fine. She just said she was worried about me. But look at me, I’m good.”

“You usually are, yes. I know that you want Arthur to be happy, and, well, a happy wife leads to a happy life. So you’ll both make it up. For Arthur’s sake. Speaking of Arthur, how is he? Enjoying being a married man?” Morgana asks. “I bet my baby brother looked so handsome in his suit. Oh! Pictures! I know you took some, Merlin. Show me, please. I bet Gwen was a vision in her dress, too!”

“Morgana,” says Merlin softly. He’s going to have to break it to her as gently as he can—one step at a time. “Look, I’m so sorry, I really am, but there’s no easy way to put this. So I’m going to go slowly and explain it all as best I can. You can stop me at any moment if it all gets to be too much, okay? Just tell me and we’ll stop. All right?”

Morgana laughs nervously. “You make it sound so serious, Merlin! Surely it’s not all that bad.”

“Let me start off by saying there was no wedding.”

“No wedding!” she exclaims. “Why? What happened? Did Arthur somehow manage to screw things up with Gwen? I don’t see how, she’s one of the sweetest girls I know. What did my brother do?”

Merlin sighs. He wishes that someone else were here doing this, or at the very least that he had some support. He thinks briefly about Arthur in the other room. No. Definitely not a good idea. And yet, Merlin is not cut out for these kinds of things either. It should be someone like Gwen, who’s a teacher and probably has had training in how to deal with bereavement and breaking bad news to people. Merlin can barely take care of himself, let alone anyone else.

“He, uh. Well, um. Look, there’s no easy way of saying this. And it’s going to upset you, and you have every right to be upset, and you might need to speak with your therapist, because it’s very difficult news and—”

“Merlin,” she interrupts. “You’re babbling. Just cut to the chase so that I can strangle my brother with my own bare hands.”

He sighs and closes his eyes to steady himself for a moment. Saying it out loud makes it all seem so real and final.

“The wedding didn’t happen because Arthur died.”

Morgana looks at him blankly, the colour draining from her face as she starts to process what Merlin’s just said.

“Could you repeat that, please Merlin? I’m sure I must have misheard,” she asks, her voice shaky.

With a deep breath and a sad shake of his head, Merlin speaks again. “Arthur died. There was a car accident about a week before the wedding. We—we called and spoke with Agravaine, he promised us that he would contact you. But I guess he wasn’t able to get ahold of you, maybe...” _Or perhaps he never even tried,_ thinks Merlin darkly, though he can’t imagine _why_ Agravaine would have wanted to lie about it.

Morgana looks up at him, tears gleaming in her eyes, her proudly uplifted chin quivering with suppressed emotion. Merlin can feel his own eyes starting to water too, and he stifles a sniffle. “We never meant for you to find out so suddenly like this,” he says, his voice sounding weird to his own ears. “We wanted to break it to you gently.”

“No—no,” she says. “I would… I’d have rather heard it from you, Merlin. It’s just, it’s a big thing, and I never expected it. He’s really...?”

“Yeah.”

A lone tear streaks down her wan face. “Oh, Merlin,” she whispers. “What are we going to do without him?”

“We’ll all look after each other, that’s what. You know Gwen and I will always be here for you.”

Morgana wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, and Merlin searches the room for a box of tissues. He grabs some kitchen towel instead and offers her a piece. She dabs at her eyes, and he thinks only Morgana could manage to still look sophisticated whilst wiping her eyes with kitchen roll.

“Thank you, Merlin. It was good of you to tell me. I know that it can’t have been easy. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need some proper tissues.”

Morgana gets up from the table and starts to walk out of the kitchen, making a beeline for the bathroom. She gets as far as the hallway before she stops in her tracks. Arthur is leaning through the door of the spare room.

“Hey Merlin, are you and Morgana done—” 

“Oh, hey Arthur!” Morgana says, looking at him with a weak smile. “I was just...” She trails off, and the smile on her face slides away, to slowly be replaced with a look of dawning horror.

“No,” she says, scrambling backwards down the hall, shaking her head. “No, no, no! You’re not real, you’re not here! You’re dead! Merlin just told me that. You died. You’re not here, you’re just in my head. I was doing so well.” Morgana claws at her scalp and closes her eyes. “He’s not here, he’s not here. He’s dead. He’s dead,” she whispers over and over, slumping down against the bookshelf in the hallway and burying her face in her knees.

“What does she mean, Merlin?” asks Arthur with growing concern. 

Merlin shakes his head at him. “I, uh, I’m not sure. She just...” He’s horrible at lying, especially to Arthur. And Arthur knows this. He narrows his eyes at Merlin, but appears to be willing to let it slide for the time being. Two Pendragon’s letting things side in one night. That must be some kind of record, Merlin muses. He’s always had a bit of a dark sense of humour.

He hurries over to kneel next to Morgana, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder and making a shushing noise. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, Morgana. It’s all okay.”

Morgana snaps her head up and glares at him, her eyes angry and haunted. “How is it okay, Merlin? They’re going to make me go back. I just got out, maybe permanently, and I’m going to have to go back. They said the meds were working. I was doing so well!”

“It’s all fine, Morgana. They won’t send you back,” says Merlin, his voice low and quiet. His throat tightens, and he’s finding it hard to breathe as he realises the potential implications of what he’s about to say. But he can’t stand by and let Morgana think she’s going crazy.

“You can’t say that. They’ll say… they’ll say I’m delusional again. That I’m going mad, seeing people who have died!”

“They won’t, Morgana. Because if they take you—” Merlin’s eyes flick over to look at Arthur who’s watching them cautiously. He ducks his head and whispers, more quietly still, “—then they’ll have to take me too.”

Morgana’s eyes harden, and she finally dares to look in Arthur’s direction. “You mean—you can see him, too?” 

Slowly, Merlin begins to nod and turns his gaze towards Arthur. He swallows as their eyes meet. “Yeah, I can see him all right. He’s standing right there.”

Several cups of tea and a long while later, after Morgana is finally done grilling them with questions—a fair amount of which they can’t answer—Merlin starts to yawn, and suggests that they head to bed, having agreed they will decide on a plan of action in the morning. He offers his own bed up to Morgana for the night, and she accepts gratefully.

“Merlin,” she asks, her eyes darting around to look for Arthur as she comes out of the bathroom. She looks vulnerable and soft this way, her hair hanging loose around her face and dressed in rubber duckie pajamas, as if she’s shed the skin of harsh, critical, confident Morgana that she wears as a shield against the world and now Merlin is seeing the gentle woman she is beneath, the one who who was petrified that she was losing her mind in the hallway earlier tonight. All in all, she’s done fantastically for the emotional rollercoaster she’s been through this evening. 

“I just have one other question for you,” she says, beckoning him close. He can see the specks of yellow in her anxious eyes. “Why us?”

Merlin shifts from one foot to the other uncomfortably, hugging his arms to his chest. “What do you mean?”

Morgana stares up at him, her face set firmly, looking more like the harsh Morgana he knows. “Why is it that you and I are the only ones who can see Arthur?”

“Dunno.” Merlin shrugs. “Maybe it’s because we were close to him. Like family.”

Morgana arches a perfect eyebrow at him. “Well, I’m family. But I’d argue that Gwen was closer,” she says with a smirk, “given that they were engaged to be married.”

Merlin scowls and wonders if she might be right. After all, Arthur had essentially rejected Merlin and moved on with his life to be with Gwen. It had always seemed like Arthur had shared everything with him, but maybe he hadn’t. The thought makes Merlin’s heart clench in his chest. 

“Yes. I s’pose so,” he says, trying to squeeze past Morgana to the relative safety of the bathroom. 

She blocks his way. “So if it’s not because we’re close to him—because then Gwen would see him too— then what is it, Merlin? Why us?” 

Her eyes bore into him, demanding an answer, their haunted expression seeming to plead for him to confess to a truth that he can’t give her. To confess to having magic would be a mistake, he’s sure. He still remembers the look of horror on Morgana’s face, the way her eyes had pierced him back then, desperate for someone to stop what was happening as they’d taken her away. He shivers. No, he can’t risk that. It is too late for Morgana, but he can save himself, if only for his mother’s sake. His magic is a thing best kept secret. Even from Arthur.

“Dunno,” he says again. “Look, I really need to…” He dances around and nods towards the bathroom door. Finally she acquiesces and lets him pass. He slips inside and closes the door behind him, locking it for good measure as he slides down the wall beside it. He exhales shakily. Morgana is definitely suspicious, and Merlin’s not sure what he can do to put her off the trail.

Before he can say anything else, he feels his breath ripped from him as something passes straight through his body. Arthur stumbles into the room, and as he recovers he looks around with a frown and spots Merlin sitting behind him.

“Merlin,” he whispers. “What on earth are you doing down there? Come on, get up off the floor.”

“Excuse _you_ ,” says Merlin, angry and discombobulated by the sensation of Arthur walking through him. It had felt like pushing through water. “But why are YOU in _here_? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in the toilet!”

Arthur pulls a face at him. “I wanted to ask if you thought Morgana was really okay. And it’s not as though you were pissing or anything.”

“But I could have been!” Merlin points out.

“And it’s not like I haven’t seen you pissing before.”

“What!?” Arthur shrugs nonchalantly when Merlin stares at him. “You’re honestly saying you’ve watched me _peeing_?”

Arthur is uncharacteristically silent, turning away from him. Merlin glares at him and struggles to his feet. “You’ve watched me pee?” he asks again.

He can see the way Arthur’s shoulders tense through his white jacket. “We’ve been friends forever, Merlin. ‘Course I have. Haven’t most blokes?”

“Watched their mates taking a slash? No, can’t say they have.” Merlin’s annoyance starts to fade. “Of course, if _I_ did, most mates I know would wonder if I was looking because I was interested in them.”

Arthur turns, and he has that look in his eye. The one that means he thinks he’s caught Merlin out. “So you’re honestly, hand on heart, saying you’ve never looked at mine?”

“I—” Merlin can feel the way that his face heats up, blood pounding in his ears, as his mind flashes unbidden to all the memories he has over the years of Arthur’s cock. There are a lot of them, starting from when he’d first become aware of what dicks actually were and what they were used for. That had been when he was about twelve and had masturbated for the first time. He had wondered if Arthur had discovered this too, but their friendship was too new, and no one had ever mentioned anything about touching your penis and it feeling so good that sort-of-white, sort-of-clear stuff came shooting out of it. He’d touched his penis before then, and it had always felt good. But never _that_ good. From then on, he’d been on a bit of a secret mission. He’d wanted to see Arthur’s penis, to check what it looked like and make sure that he was _normal_. He was, of course, as he soon learned. But then he’d had another epiphany. He _liked_ looking at other dicks. And he liked looking at other boys in his year. He’d never allowed himself to admit that he found Arthur enormously attractive until he was quite a bit older, but he’d had significant crushes on other boys in their year at school. He’d always been petrified that there was something fundamentally wrong with him, because he didn’t like girls other than as mates, so he’d never mentioned it to anyone. 

Even when he got older, he didn’t leer over breasts, and he was honestly a bit grossed out at Will’s descriptions of what a pussy looked and felt like. Not that he believed for a second that Will had actually had a girl allow him to touch her _there_ , although he’d gone along with what the other boys were saying at the time. Merlin had even ended up dating a girl once. Freya. Worst mistake of his life. She’d been his first kiss, and he had been so completely repulsed by it that he’d abruptly broken up with her the next day. She’d cried and he’d felt terrible about the whole thing. He had refrained from any kind of dating or talking to girls since. Instead, he had preferred to watch Arthur from a far (and yes, occasionally, he may have looked at Arthur’s crotch and taken a few opportunities to check out his dick). And so things had essentially remained, right the way through to that one night when Merlin had become intimately acquainted with Arthur’s cock.

His voice breaks a little as he replies. “You—uh, you know that I have, Arthur.”

Arthur’s face changes, flickering through a myriad of emotions in a matter of seconds; fear, anger, embarrassment, all expressions that Merlin recognises from over the years, along with a few new ones that he just can’t place. Then Arthur clears his throat loudly. “Yeah, I suppose—suppose you have. Look, since we both think Morgana is going to be fine, I’ll just leave you to...” He indicates the door with one hand, and before Merlin can say anything, he walks through it. Merlin tries to grasp at Arthur’s arm as he passes, but it’s like sand, sifting harmlessly through his fingers only to scatter in the wind.

The next morning, Merlin wakes up with a crick in his neck from sleeping all scrunched up on his small sofa. He looks around blearily, fulling expecting Arthur to be watching over him as he has been for the past week, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. Merlin stretches and paws at the coffee table, trying to find his mobile. He turns it on, eyes instantly closing against the harsh light. He squints through half-open eyes. 8:56am. It’s earlier than he’s normally up on the weekend, but a bit too late to go back to sleep when he’s got a guest in the house.

He hurriedly makes his way to the bathroom, where he has a brief mental battle trying to decide if he should jack one off or try to calm his boner so that he can have a morning piss. With it being Beltane tonight, he is sorely tempted to take the edge off. But he decides, given Morgana’s proximity, that he’s better off trying to pee and as soon as his erection starts to flag a little—thinking of his old history teacher, Mrs Collins, from school certainly seems to help—he relieves himself. That taken care of, he wonders where Arthur’s got to. He hopes that he wasn’t drawn back into the void again. He always seems so shaken when he returns, even though he would deny it to all and sundry if Merlin brought it up. Lately though, Arthur has been able to do more and more things away from Merlin, almost like he’s growing stronger. So maybe he’s just gone for a short walk and feels awkward about returning given that Merlin had slept on the sofa. 

Merlin wishes now that he’d just joked and shrugged Arthur’s comments off rather than opening that old can of worms again. He wonders if Arthur will ever be willing to discuss what happened between them, so that they can finally draw a line under things and Merlin can get some actual closure. He wants to move on from Arthur. He should be able to. Arthur is dead and yesterday Merlin was close to dying himself. He deserves to be happy. But how can he manage to do that when Arthur is still here? He resolves once more to make sure that Arthur is out of the flat for Beltane. He’ll suggest that Arthur goes with Morgana to Gwen’s for a day or something. They can still meet at the office for a bit and work on Arthur’s murder, but Merlin will have the space to breathe again, and he’ll also be free to make his excuses for Beltane tonight. He nods to himself in the bathroom mirror and then heads out to set his plan into motion.


	4. Death Warmed Up

Arthur went with Morgana with remarkable ease in the end.

Merlin had started off by telling him that he wasn’t feeling well and just wanted to be alone today.

“That’s funny, Merlin, because you look fine to me,” Arthur had said. He had tried to feel Merlin’s forehead, and Merlin felt the magic in Arthur’s ghostly aura surge towards him, sending sparks of arousal through his body. With an immense effort, he drew himself away from Arthur, carefully taking several steps back. He needed to distance himself before he threw himself at Arthur and ravished him, ghost or no ghost. He was barely keeping himself in check just being in the same room, and he knew that he needed to get rid of Arthur fast before he noticed something was off. Normally, the sensation was a tolerable itch under his skin until evening drew in and nightfall took him. But for some reason today it seemed stronger than ever.

“Don’t you think we’ve been spending a bit _too much_ time together?” Merlin had asked, a bit more harshly than he’d intended. “Why can’t you just give me some space?”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else you expect me to do. Until yesterday, no one else in the entire world could see or hear me. Am I supposed to just wander around aimlessly, doing nothing for the rest of… however long this is going to be? Possibly even forever? At least you have choices and options. You can talk to people and have them talk back, and people acknowledge and recognise you. You can touch, you can feel, you can breathe. You’re living! I’m sorry if having me around has been such an imposition for you, but it’s not like I had anywhere else to go—”

“Arthur—” Merlin began, finally able to get a word in edgeways.

“No, don’t interrupt. I know where I’m not wanted, Merlin, and don’t you worry. I’ll head off with Morgana and stay with her and Gwen for as long as she’s visiting, help to keep her calm. After that—well, I’ll figure something out.”

“Oh, please!” Merlin had hissed back. “Don’t you think you’re being a tad overdramatic, Arthur? I only wanted to ask for a bit of space for a day, maybe two max. Heaven forbid you get to catch up with your sister who’s been institutionalised for the past 3 years, let alone go and see the woman who was to be your wife!”

Okay, so maybe it had been more than just a few harsh words. Arthur had been furious with him and had left with Morgana in high dudgeon, telling her that he wanted to know all about how she’d been getting on lately. He had glared at Merlin when he’d tried to talk to him again and Merlin got the message loud and clear: _shut up_ and _leave it, Merlin._

He is alone now, finally. And for some reason, he feels bereft. But this is what he wanted, wasn’t it? It is, it definitely is. Merlin absolutely cannot be around Arthur during Beltane. He refuses to let Arthur see the way he gets, uncontrolled and drunk on the feeling of magic and life and desire. He never feels like himself when that happens, but he accepts it, embraces it even, because denial is even worse. Merlin sighs and itches at his arm as he goes to make a cup of tea, making plans for the night ahead.

Later that day, after passing the time sleeping, messing around with his magic, and binge-watching _The Good Place_ on Netflix, Merlin finally steps into the shower. He takes his time, letting the water run over him as he pulls at his cock to take the edge off his ever-building desire, not for the first time that day. By the time that he gets to the club, he’ll be burning up with need and want, unable to think or care about who he’s pulling—his magic will take care of that part for him. It will sense the right person and reel them in for a dizzy, teasing dance until Merlin goes in for the kill, and they will both end up tumbling into his flat and into his bed. He jerks off again to the thought of it, and if anything it makes the feeling worse, but the temptation is impossible to resist. He shuts the water off and tries to focus on getting ready. He needs to get this itch scratched.

He gives shaving a miss—he knows that he looks better with stubble when he’s the one trying to pull—and in his room he picks out a pair of his tightest black jeans and a dark button-down shirt that fits him like a dream. With a final look in the mirror at his hair, and a quick check to be sure he’s got his wallet and phone, he heads out the door.

The club is heaving with people when he arrives, and Merlin can smell and taste the magic in the air. He’s not the only magic-user who likes to come here for Beltane. The owner is a sorcerer himself, and knowing that helps to give them all an element of safety on those nights of the year when the arcane forces align. There’s just something about the place on nights like this that acts like a beacon to those with magic in their veins. They’re drawn here, like moths to a flame, and Merlin is no exception. 

Merlin is jittery with nerves and excitement as he waits in line outside. It’s a chilly night, but he barely even notices, his body flushed and giving off rolling waves of heat like a furnace. He is impatient to get in, his skin prickling with the energy flowing through his veins. He just wants to unleash his magic and sweep everyone out of his path, strolling into that club like the God that he is. He is powerful. So much more powerful than any of these other fools. They should be begging him to come in and… and… Merlin closes his eyes and starts to take deep, calming breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. His head is spinning and he feels dizzy, sick from the overwhelming need and want. It’s always like this, overstimulating and raw with an edge of desperation, his magic chafing as he waits like an animal caged by people and velvet ropes. It seems to take an age before he gets to the door. 

Once inside the club, Merlin lets his eyes drift closed, his heart pounding to the rhythm of the bass as it reverberates deep within him. He loves this part of Beltane—how free and uninhibited he feels. There’s no need to hide who he is here, no need to hide his power nor try to contain it. The magic in the air around him is so thick he can taste it, dark, metallic and dangerous. This night is his and his alone. 

At the bar, he orders a few shots. He doesn’t need the drink; his inhibitions are stripped away tonight already, his inability to put his thoughts into actions obliterated, but he does it to buy himself the time to hunt, letting his magic loose to wander through the room. His eyes scan the young, nubile bodies, so full of energy and life. He immediately eliminates the women; pretty as they are, they’re not for him. He found that out when he was fifteen. No, Merlin has a much greater appreciation of the male form, even more so if the man is tall, blond and well-built. He has a type. He eyes up the remaining club-goers, but no one seems to catch his eye. Until he spots him out there, dancing, his body swaying and rolling into time with the music. A sense of power swirls about him, and Merlin swallows as their eyes meet. There is a spark between them, a connection, and his magic calls out to the man. He downs his last shot, and then he is out there, stalking through the crowd. The other dancers give him a wide berth due to the waves of magic emanating from his body.

The man—barely a man, really, he looks so young—glances at Merlin through his eyelashes with mock coyness, and Merlin narrows his own eyes at him. The little flirt. Well, if he’s offering, Merlin is taking. The crowd seems to part in front him as Merlin slides up to his prey.

“Hey,” he breathes into the man’s ear. 

It’s not loud enough to be heard over the thumping sound of the music, which is drowning out any and all other sounds, but it’s enough. The young man stares up at him, a smug smile curling on his lips, echoing the curls of dark hair on his head. He moves closer to Merlin, deliberately pressing his body against him as he tip-toes up to whisper, “Hey yourself.” His breath is hot on Merlin’s ear, and he shudders as it sends tingles of pleasure dancing down his spine, the greeting sounding as clear as a bell inside his head. Merlin barely manages to contain a groan as the man coils his body against him. “My name’s Mordred,” he whispers, and again, Merlin can hear him, even over the layers of music and the bass that he’s sure will leave him deafened for hours. He wonders for a moment how the man has done it, how he’s projected his voice into Merlin’s mind. He wants to learn to talk that way too. But more than that, he wants to kiss him, to plunge his tongue into his mouth and savour every thing he has to offer.

Merlin stares down at his dancing partner’s lips and licks his own. The man—Mordred, Merlin’s brain supplies through the fog of lust—stares up at him. His eyes are dark. In the low light, Merlin can’t tell what colour they are, but he also doesn’t care. Mordred has magic, strong magic, and Merlin can feel the way it’s reaching out, curling around his own magic where it is nosing and sniffing like a dog. Yes, yes, he will do. Mordred is ready and willing. They press close to one another and sway to the beat of the music. Merlin closes his eyes and slides his hands around Mordred’s waist, ducking his head to press his face into the man’s neck. Mordred practically preens as he scrapes his fingernails down Merlin’s back, making him gasp. He can barely think, barely breathe; his want is so great it consumes his every thought.

Merlin raises his head and tries to focus as Mordred slides his hands up his chest, fisting his shirt to pull him down for a kiss. There’s no tentativeness, none of the nervousness that usually accompanies a first kiss fluttering like butterflies in his stomach. There’s no soft press of lips, no slow ease into it. Their mouths are open and wet as their tongues meet and tangle in a filthy kiss. Normally, Merlin would feel embarrassed about indulging in such a passionate embrace on the middle of a dance floor; he’s had a few obscene nightclub kisses in his time, but never this instantaneous or brazen. Tonight, however, he doesn’t belong to himself, and he doesn’t belong to Mordred. He doesn’t even belong to Arthur. He belongs to magic and nature and the night, and he rejoices in it.

They dance for a few more songs, and Merlin has to smile at the desperate way that Mordred wants him, and what he wants to give to him. It feels so good to be wanted, to be desired, to be noticed. He can feel the way the Mordred’s magic swells and surges to meet his own as they kiss and kiss, until Merlin’s lips are sore and raw from stubble burn and still he wants more. He needs more. His whole world has narrowed down to just this: these kisses, the burn of arousal, and the beat of the music that flows through him as though he’s a conduit. And maybe he is. He can’t tell. All he knows is that it feels good, so good. He loves that he need pay no heed to his thoughts and emotions, loves the fact that this is all out of his hands. This isn’t just about him and his needs, it’s the very magic and fabric of the world that calls out to them, demanding that they give in to their lust and desires and give themselves over to a higher power, renewing the magic and life of the earth. It feels reckless and dangerous, as though he’s not himself. This is not Merlin doing this; this is a magic as old as time itself. And he doesn’t care.

Merlin drags his hand through Mordred’s dark curls, tugging on them just to feel the way that Mordred gasps into his mouth, his breath hot against Merlin’s abused lips. Merlin doesn't even pretend to hide his arousal, grinding his erection in firm, rolling motions against Mordred’s hip. 

As the next song ends, Mordred smiles guilelessly at him as he cups his hand over Merlin’s clothed cock. Merlin chokes for a moment and bucks into his hand, closing his eyes against the sensation. “So, big boy,” Mordred’s voice purrs in his head as he twirls a talented tongue around Merlin’s earlobe. “How about we take _this_...” He squeezes gently, biting at the shell of Merlin’s ear, and Merlin barely holds back a moan. His lips brush along Mordred’s jaw, and he strains to hear the way Mordred is panting over the music, just as breathless and desperate for this as Merlin is, “back to yours?”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s,” Merlin agrees, the words forming without a second thought. This is what he needs. He needs to fuck. Once he fucks, he will be himself again. 

Mordred’s wandering hands squeeze his arse, and this time a moan does spill out of his lips, Mordred’s breath mingling with his. They hang there for a moment, gasping, and then time starts again and Mordred is tugging at his hand, pulling Merlin through the crowd, pushing his way through the people until they reach the blissfully cold air outside.

Merlin lets himself be lead into a taxi, where he barely has time to mumble his address to the driver before Mordred pounces on him again, all but sitting in his lap as he licks into Merlin’s mouth. They make out the whole journey home.

By the time they finally reach Merlin’s flat, Mordred has become so impatient that he’s wriggled his hand down the front of Merlin’s jeans to rub it along his rock-hard cock. Merlin is wild with the sensation, his cock twitching and jumping beneath Mordred’s attention. Mordred’s voice in his head is like silken lava, hot and burning, searing into his brain. “Gods, your cock. It’s perfect, just perfect. I need you to fuck me with it.” Merlin almost drops his keys in surprise, but his higher brain function appears to still be intact as he fumbles and manages to unlock the door. He’s clumsy and uncoordinated, as though he’s drunk even though he’s barely touched a drink all night. His magic is impatient, flinging the door open for them without so much as a conscious thought on his part, and they fall through the doorway together. Merlin slams Mordred into the wall, invading his mouth with his tongue, picking up exactly where they had left off in the cab, and Mordred instantly wraps his legs around Merlin’s waist.

“Your name, your name,” he mutters through their fervent kisses.

“Oh, Gods. Shit—” says Merlin, scrabbling at the zipper of his jeans. “Merlin. Shit, _fuuuuck_. I—”

“Yes, fuck yes,” says Mordred, flinging his arms around Merlin’s neck. “Have you got...”

“Yeah, yeah. Bedroom.”

“Yes, I need your cock, Merlin,” says Mordred, his tongue fucking into Merlin’s mouth. Merlin can only moan in response, and Mordred swallows it up.

They fumble their way through the dark, pausing every few steps to kiss, fondle and grope until they reach the door to Merlin’s room. Merlin’s hands reach behind him to open it and he pulls Mordred in with him, neither of them bothering to close the door.

Arthur grits his teeth as he sits in the dark room, listening to Merlin’s moans and cries—and is that _growling_? He digs his fingers into the sofa, and they sink deep into the fabric as he tries to ignore the sounds of Merlin and his mystery man together. So this is the real reason Merlin kicked him out earlier, huh? So that he can fuck some man he’s just pulled without Arthur being in the way? To think, Arthur had come back to _apologise_ to Merlin and try to make amends. He’d wanted to talk with Merlin about Morgana, who was _still_ distressed about seeing him again. She refused to even acknowledge his existence when Gwen was around, and then did her best to avoid talking with him when they were alone. It had upset him, and so he’d come back to Merlin’s flat, only to find it dark and empty. Still, with nothing better to do he’d hung out there, figuring Merlin wouldn’t be out too late. How wrong he was.

He should leave, Arthur knows that he should. He could do it right this moment if he could only focus well enough to have a clear picture of where he wants to go; it’s simply a case of giving himself a mental push in the right direction. He’s been practicing. But a clear mind is pretty much an impossibility right now, sitting there listening to the way that Merlin—is that Merlin, or the other man?—he’s heard Merlin, well, you know… before. But there is a distinct babbling voice that definitely isn’t Merlin’s, accompanied by sharp grunts and gasping breath and low cries.

“Oh, Merlin, _gods_ ,” groans the mystery man. “Yeah, _yeah_ , give it to me hard!”

Arthur straightens up in his seat. Shit. Merlin is _topping_? Arthur had always had him pegged as a bottom. He was when they…Not that it’s any of his business. But even though he pushes the memory from his mind, his brain still decides to paint him it’s own picture. 

What would Merlin’s face look like as he fucks Ar— this dark-haired stranger of his? Arthur pictures his look of determination, the way his brow would furrow in a very familiar way, little lines forming on his forehead. His eyes would be closed and his mouth open so that Arthur could feel his breath, hot and damp against his skin as Merlin panted against him. He imagines Merlin bowing his head to press their foreheads together, intimately close as his hips fuck and rut and thrust, over and over. 

He must be doing an awfully good job, from the sound of it; either that, or his stranger is one of those people who love to be noisy and dramatic for their partner. Arthur shudders as he listens and tries to dig his fingers further into the armrests of the chair as he feels his cock—the traitorous thing—twitching in response. Fuck. This is wrong on _so many levels_. Merlin is his _friend_. His _best friend_. He couldn’t ask for a more loyal person in his life. He shouldn’t be here listening to him having sex. He has known for a long time that Merlin was gay, though they never really discussed it. When Arthur had first started to notice girls, Merlin had remained stoically silent, and Arthur had wondered if he might have just not been interested in sex at all. Then one day Merlin had introduced his boyfriend, and since then, as far as he knows, Merlin has always dated men. Not that he’s seen Merlin with another man since uni. Logically, Arthur knows that Merlin must have some kind of love life, but he guesses he’d just… blocked it from his mind or something, because this is _Merlin_ and Arthur can’t possibly think about what Merlin gets up to in his spare time, or who he does _it_ with. He can’t allow himself to think about _this_. The thoughts are too dangerous.

“Yes, yes. Like that, I like that…” cries the man, his voice piercing through Arthur’s consciousness like a hot knife through butter.

Arthur grinds his teeth, not liking the way his gut clenches with what feels a lot like jealousy. His hand flexes, and he realises that he’s now painfully hard just from listening to the two of them fucking. He wants to go in there and rip the man off of Merlin.

And then suddenly Merlin starts getting vocal too, moaning loudly, and Arthur thinks he might die if he doesn’t go in there _right now and..._ and what? Merlin would hardly appreciate Arthur rushing in and interrupting them mid-coitus.

He moves his hands into his lap, digging his fingers into his thighs to stop them moving any closer to his raging boner. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Ah, ah! Oh, _I—_ ” Merlin calls out, and Arthur almost bolts out of his seat. “Ah— _Arthur!_ ”

In the blink of an eye, Arthur is out of his chair and charging towards the bedroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he bellows as he rushes into the room.

There’s a flail of limbs—he can’t quite make out whose are whose in the dark—and then the stranger is tumbling out of bed, already tugging on clothes.

“Oh my GOD!” he yells at Merlin. “What the fuck? You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend!”

“He’s not my...” begins Merlin weakly.

“Oh, really? What’s he doing there, then?” Mordred points his finger at Arthur accusingly and then glares over at Merlin. “Do you have some kind of sick arrangement where you go out and pull and he gets to watch?” He shakes his head and pulls on his t-shirt. “Well, let me tell you _this_ : I will NOT be treated like some kind of game for you two sick perverts. Involving a third party without asking for my consent...” He bends down to grab his shoes from the floor and storms over to the door, giving Arthur a hard shove that sends him sprawling to the floor. “You two _disgust_ me. I’ll see myself out.”

Merlin and Arthur look at each other in silent shock for a long moment, neither of them moving as the front door slams shut with a bang.

Arthur looks Merlin up and down, taking in the flush on his face that dips down the length of his neck and dusts parts of his shoulders and chest in the low light. The glare from a streetlight outside his window gives Merlin’s room a dull glow, highlighting his swollen lips and his hair in complete disarray.

Merlin blushes still further when he notices Arthur’s gaze and draws the covers up over himself in an attempt to preserve his modesty. “Arthur, what the fuck was all that about?”

“You called out for me! I thought you were in trouble!”

“What?” says Merlin, looking uncomfortable and shaking his head. “No way. There is no way that I called your name when I—”

Arthur bites his lip and holds back a smirk, but he can’t stop the words that spill out of his lips. “When you what? Came?”

If looks could kill, Arthur’s thinks that Merlin might have killed him there and then, never mind that he’s already a ghost. “Get out,” Merlin says, his voice quiet and low, and Arthur knows that he’s gone too far. Even so, he can’t bring himself to move, sitting there on the floor as he takes in Merlin in all his angry glory. Merlin raises his voice. “I said, get. Out. Arthur. NOW.”

The rage in Merlin’s expression finally spurs Arthur into action, and he gets to his feet. He straightens up, mustering all the dignity that he can given that he’s not the injured party here, and brushes off imaginary dust from his suit, straightening his jacket to show Merlin that, although he may have jumped to it when Merlin snapped at him, he will take his own sweet time with leaving.

“Fine,” he replies tightly, then walks straight through the wall.

Merlin comes out of his room a few minutes later, dressed in pajama bottoms and an old faded t-shirt. He walks straight past Arthur, as though determined to ignore him, and goes into his kitchen to switch on the kettle. Arthur follows him, and he can’t help but notice the way that Merlin’s hair is still a mess, even though he’s clearly attempted to flatten it. It sticks up around the sides, where he imagines the man was probably fisting it whilst they fucked. A ball of white-hot jealousy punches through Arthur at the thought that, just minutes ago, another man was touching Merlin, kissing him, _having sex with him_. And why wouldn’t he? Merlin’s shoulders fill out his t-shirt in a way they never did when they were teenagers; it clings and stretches across them enticingly, and Arthur is distracted by the long, strong lines of Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s waist is still slim and trim, and he’s always been slight, his high metabolism mostly to blame, along with his insistence on eating what was practically a vegan diet. Arthur’s not sure exactly when Merlin started to fill out. But seeing how good he looks in just an tight old t-shirt like this makes Arthur look at him in a different kind of light.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, watching Merlin take down a mug from the cupboard.

He can see the way Merlin’s back stiffens at the question. It’s dangerous territory. They never talk about things like this. They repress their feelings and avoid talking about the weird tension that’s often present between them, or any of those moments when they do or witness something that’s not easily explained away. This evening definitely falls into the latter category, but for once Arthur doesn’t want to just leave it alone.

“I thought you were going to be gone for the night,” Merlin says finally, keeping his back to Arthur, his voice tight and strange as he carries on with the tea.

“I was, but I came back because Morgana refuses to acknowledge that I exist. At least you talk to me.”

Merlin makes a derisive snort. “Thanks,” he says shortly. “Nice to know those are the qualifiers for being your friend.”

It’s a deflection. Arthur knows that it is. This is what they do. One of them tries to bring up the issue and the other deflects so that they end up bickering like school kids about something completely different and never address the original issue at all.

“That’s not what I meant,” Arthur chastises. “She’s scared that if she admits to my presence, it means that she’s crazy. But she’s not, I don’t think. You can see me and you seem plenty sane to me. Well, plenty sane for being _Mer_ lin, anyway.”

Merlin opens the fridge to get out the milk (soya, of course, because Merlin can’t actually drink regular milk), but Arthur can still see him rolling his eyes. “Thanks. Again.”

Arthur ignores him. “And that bloke who you…” Arthur stops short of making a hand motion for sex, but it’s a close thing. “He could see me, too! In fact... how did he manage to touch me, let alone push me over? Surely that should be impossible. Every time you’ve tried, your hand has passed right through me. Try it again.”

Merlin finally turns to face him, leaning back against the counter. “He did, didn’t he?” He sighs, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I, uh— I don’t know how he did it, though. It was probably some kind of fluke.”

It’s a lie. An obvious lie, because Merlin is easy to read when you know what you’re looking for. Arthur wonders why it’s taken him so long to recognise the look on Merlin’s face and realise just how innocent Merlin he appears when he’s not telling the truth.

“I think you do. Or at least, you have your suspicions. So come on, tell me.”

“No,” Merlin says. “It’s silly and on second thoughts, completely wrong.”

“Or we could talk about why you called out my name in there with…”

“Mordred,” mumbles Merlin, shame-faced. “It was a mistake, I swear.”

Arthur tucks away his curiosity to think about later. It must be something serious for Merlin to actually talk about _this_ , rather than fob him off with the usual jokes and diversions. Why does he not want to talk about why he, Morgana and this Mordred bloke are the only ones who can see him? There’s something more to this, and Arthur will need to do some digging to find out just what it is.

“It didn’t sound like a mistake.” Arthur crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows at Merlin as he waits for his response. 

Merlin ducks his head. “Please don’t do this.” 

“Don’t do what?”

Merlin looks up at him, his eyes big and luminous. “You can’t tell me that you don’t know, Arthur,” he says with a harsh, choked off laugh. “You _have_ to know, you _have to_. How can you _not_ know?”

Arthur stares at Merlin blankly, unable to think of anything that would bother Merlin to this extent, and their eyes meet. Merlin lets out a dramatic sigh and holds the bridge of his nose as he turns away, steadying himself with a hand on the sideboard.

“Oh my God, you _don’t_ know!” he exclaims. “You really don’t know, do you? You oblivious clotpole!”

“Well,” begins Arthur. “If you’d just tell me, then I wo—”

“No,” says Merlin. “This conversation is over and done with. I’m exhausted.” _Well, of course you are,_ thinks Arthur. _You just fucked Mordred into the mattress._ “I’m going to bed.”

When he wakes the next morning, Merlin glances blearily around his room. No Arthur yet. Good. He makes a blind grab for his phone on his bedside table, having already closed his eyes again. Phone in hand, he opens his eyes just enough to squint at the screen as he scrolls through his contacts and then hits call.

He holds the phone to his ear and listens to the phone ringing. “C’mon. Pick up, pick up,” he begs. Finally, the tone cuts out and he hears a confused voice answer him.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s me, Merlin.”

“Oh, Merlin!” Gaius sounds pleased. “How are you, my boy?”

Merlin breathes a sigh of relief and sits up in the bed, gripping the phone tightly. “I need your help, Gaius.”

“Well, that sounds ominous. Do Alice and I at least have time to put the kettle on and have some breakfast first? We just got back from our holiday ten minutes ago.”

“Yes, of course. Can I come over in a bit?”

“Certainly. You know our door is always open to you, Merlin.”

“Thanks, Gaius! I’ll be there in...” He glances over at his bedside clock. 9:22am. “A bit past ten?”

“Take your time, my boy. I’m sure it will keep a little while longer.”

Merlin shakes his head as he says goodbye and hangs up. He’s not so sure that it will, but as he catches a whiff of himself he decides a shower is definitely in order before he does anything else. He can’t go out stinking of stale sweat, sex, and what he thinks might be residual magic, despite how desperately he needs to talk to Gaius about this whole Arthur’s-back-as-a-ghost thing.

After he’s showered and is finally feeling more like himself in than he has in ages, Merlin skips breakfast in his haste to leave the flat before Arthur realises he’s heading out and asks to come with him. As he creeps towards the door, however, he hears a stirring from the sofa and freezes in place, holding his breath. He slowly turns his head, only to see Arthur lying on the cushions in his ethereal form, sleeping. He snuffles and shifts onto his side, but thankfully remains dead to the world (so to speak). Merlin frowns. He’s sure that Arthur’s never slept before on any of the nights since he reappeared, at least, not as far as Merlin knows. He’s always been awake when Merlin gets up, usually looking longingly out of the kitchen window, watching the street below as people start their day. This sleeping thing is definitely new and possibly a bit concerning. Why would a ghost ever need to sleep? He adds that question to his mental list of things to ask Gaius when he gets there and slips out of the room, closing the door magically behind him.

“Merlin!” exclaims Gaius delightedly. “So nice to see you! Isn’t it Alice?” Gaius turns and looks over his shoulder, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Well, don’t just stand there, come on in!”

Merlin follows Gaius into the small flat and is immediately assaulted by the smell of coffee, mushrooms, and toast. His stomach growls hungrily in response. Alice smiles happily at him and wipes her hands on her apron before beckoning him over. “Merlin, sweet boy! It is indeed lovely to see you!” She draws him in for a tight hug and tip-toes up to kiss his cheek. “Now, tell me. Are you keeping well? Eating enough? Keeping up with your work? How are you coping, Merlin?”

She guides him into a chair at the kitchen table, and Gaius sits down opposite with an indulgent smile, disappearing behind his newspaper when Alice shoots him a dark look.

Alice pushes a plate of food under Merlin’s nose and sets a mug of coffee next to him, before doing the same for her husband. “There you go, duck. I know you, and I’m sure you haven’t had a single bite to eat since yesterday. Get that down you and then you boys can go off and have one of those super secret chats you like to pretend I don’t know about.”

Gaius pops his head over the newspaper again to issue a vigorous denial. “Oh, I wouldn’t say they’re _secret_ per se...”

Alice raises an eyebrow at him, and it’s almost as intimidating as when Gaius does it. Merlin ducks his head to hide his amusement at their antics. He’s used to it now after years of visiting, and from the summer he’d spent with them when he was younger, but that doesn’t make it any less entertaining. He tucks into his breakfast. Alice really can work wonders, and she knows all of his favourites. He doesn’t know how she’s managed to do it, freshly back from her holiday as she is, but he suspects she uses a few culinary magic tricks which she refuses to share with anyone else.

Finally Gaius appears to be done, folding his newspaper carefully and placing it on the table beside his empty plate. “Finished, Merlin?” he asks. 

Merlin nods, shoving the last piece of toast into his mouth and standing without ceremony.

Gaius gives Alice a brief kiss as he passes her. “Wonderful breakfast, thank you, my dear. Merlin and I will be in my workshop should you need us.” Alice merely waves them both away with a shake of her head, and Merlin hears her mutter something about ‘secret meetings’ as he walks past.

Once they’re safely inside the privacy of Gaius workshop, Gaius heads off to check on his ‘experiments’—a number of pots and jars filled with substances of varying colours and consistencies.

“So,” he begins slowly, as he holds a test tube of blue goop up to the light and looks at it through a magnifying glass. “I trust Beltane went well?”

Merlin’s mouth goes dry. Gaius can’t _possibly_ be implying what Merlin thinks he’s implying, can he? There’s no way he could have found out. Merlin has never discussed his Beltane experiences with anyone. “Uh, yeah, it went fine.”

“I can tell. You’d be an uncontrollable wreck otherwise.”

“What?” asks Merlin, really hoping they’re not having the conversation he thinks they’re having.

Now Gaius has moved on to some kind of yellow salve and is transferring it from one tub to another. “I couldn’t help noticing how much you change around Beltane, Merlin. You don’t seem like yourself, so I did some reading about the rituals of the High Priestess and sorcerers of the Old Religion. There were some _interesting_ ones involving the natural urges of powerful magic users who are in tune with the very fabric of this world.” Gaius finishes with his salve and looks over at him smugly. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever experienced anything like that?”

Merlin shakes his head at him mutely. He’s never hung around with the local coven for Beltane for exactly that reason; because he’s afraid he might lose his head and do something that he’ll regret. He’s got his own plan figured out, and it works, until the next year when he has to go through it all over again.

“Well, if you’re interested, it’s that green leather-bound book on the bench,” says Gaius, and apparently finished with all his various potions for now, he comes to sit down with Merlin. Merlin eyes the book cautiously and makes a note to swipe it when he leaves.

“So, what is it that’s been bothering you my boy?” Gaius asks kindly, the bench creaking a little under his additional weight.

“It’s Arthur,” says Merlin.

“Ah,” replies Gaius. “Yes. I was worried about this. You two were so close for so long. As someone who has experienced a similar loss, I can tell you that the ache never really fades. You just… learn to live with it.”

Merlin’s head snaps up. “I didn’t know you’d lost a love. Who was it?” he asks.

“It was a long time ago,” says Gaius. “We were very young, and it likely wouldn’t have lasted. His parents would never have allowed it.”

Merlin feels his lips curve into a smile in spite of himself, and he props his head up on his hand as he leans on the table. “Tell me about him?”

Gaius harrumphs. “We grew up together. We were both from the same village and both went to the same school. He was my best friend.”

“Did you love him?”

“I did. Possibly a bit too much, given our age. I know you’ve always felt similarly strongly for Arthur.” Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Gaius continues, “I saw how your heart broke when he met Gwen, and I imagine it’s broken again now, too. He was a good man and a very good friend to you, Merlin. He was lucky to have you. And like I said, you’ll learn how to live with your loss, just as I did with mine. You’ll be able to be happy, to laugh, to feel joy again.”

“Gaius, I’m not—” Merlin tries to speak.

“I mean, look at me and Alice. It is absolutely possible to find love again, even at my late stage of life. So I’m sure there are plenty of lovely young men out there for you.”

“Gaius!” says Merlin, raising his voice. “Would you please just _listen_ to me for a minute?”

Surprise ripples across Gaius face, but in seconds it’s gone and he’s back to his normal solemn demeanor. “By all means, Merlin. Go ahead.”

“Arthur isn’t gone.”

Gaius looks at him sceptically and sighs. “Merlin… I know that you miss him, and that this must be very hard for you. I thought at the time that I shouldn’t have gone away with Alice. I should have had her take Jane instead—”

“Gaius,” says Merlin, exasperated. “Arthur came back as a ghost.”

Gaius’ eyebrows rise as Merlin’s words start to register. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“Of course I am. I mean, at first I thought I was going crazy. I was drunk, and I was convinced that it was just my mind playing tricks on me.” He raises his finger at Gaius, who has opened his mouth to interrupt, and gives him a warning look. “I know what you’re going to say, Gaius. Trust me, I’ve asked myself the same questions. But it’s true. I swear it. At first I was the only one who could see him, but then Morgana showed up the other night and she could see him, and then last night, the guy I—”

Shit. Merlin can feel his face heat with embarrassment and he prays to the Goddesses that Gaius won’t force him to finish that sentence.

“Ah, a new gentleman friend. Will Alice and I have the pleasure of meeting him?” 

“I, um. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again. He was angry when he left,” Merlin explains. “Even though I hadn’t done anything wrong! But there was something weird about it all. I’ve tried touching Arthur, and I can’t—my hand goes through him, because he’s a ghost. But there’s _some_ kind of… magical energy there. I’m sure of it. Or at least, it feels like magic to me. And if it is… well, it explains a lot. It would explain why the only people who’ve been able to see him so far are me, Morgana and Mordred. He’s been around plenty of other people and they can’t see or hear him. But Mordred touched him. He got mad and pushed Arthur to the ground as if he were actually there. Well—he was there. But you know what I mean. So I thought I’d come to you. What do you know about ghosts? Is it only people who have some kind of magic that can see them?”

“Ah,” says Gaius. “I think I might a have a few books about this, but we’ll have to do some digging.”

Gaius walks over to his wall of books and scans it for a moment, before pulling out one large, imposing-looking book from the first shelf and several others from the rows around it. He returns to stare at the bookshelves examining them as he thinks. “Tell me some more about the circumstances surrounding this Mordred pushing Arthur. What exactly was Arthur doing that gave Mordred cause to push him?”

Merlin can feel himself blush a burning red. His ears burning from it. “He might have…” he ducks his head and suddenly becomes extremely interested in the old stain on the table in front of him. “He might have burst in on us having sex,” Merlin mumbles. “Then Mordred accused us of playing games with him, as if Arthur was some kind of peeping Tom! Like I’d planned on having Arthur walk in on us! He shoved Arthur away when he stormed out of the flat.”

“Ah, I see,” says Gaius, still pondering which books will be of use.

“I see?” asks Merlin, raising his head to look at him. “What does, ‘I see’ mean?”

“Well, I’m no expert in such things. But it sounds to me as though this young man—this Mordred—was in a state of high emotion, which may have been what allowed them that moment of touch.”

Merlin looks at him thoughtfully. It’s an interesting hypothesis, and if it were true... Well, he wonders what that might mean for Arthur if he ends up trapped here for good. Then he is snapped out of his thoughts by a frightening thud as Gaius drops several heavy-looking books onto the table next to him.

“These might be able to help us get started,” he declares. “I recommend looking in the book of Hergest first.”

“Which is..?” 

“The red one.”

Merlin sighs and pulls the ancient tome towards himself. He flips it open. Ah, Welsh. Well, at least his Masters wasn’t completely in vain. His studies have been extremely useful to him when it comes to researching and learning more about magic. At university, his tutors were always so surprised at the speed with which he would pick up a new—well, old—language. He had been driven by a desire to read and understand more of Gaius’ private library, so he worked relentlessly to learn the basics of each new dialect, finding that it helped him unlock even more lost knowledge that he was desperate to learn. Gaius had helped, of course. Having a polyglot for an uncle did have its uses. So Merlin had thrived with his university studies, even if he did tend to get raised eyebrows from people when he told them what he was studying. They had no idea just how useful these supposedly dead languages were to Merlin's life. Of course, they were less useful when it came to running a detective agency, but he had started doing that for Arthur mostly, even if he eventually did find a knack for it.

He scans his eyes over the first page and stifles a yawn. It’s all very well knowing what a book says, but it is another thing altogether to stay awake while reading the boring text within.

“So, what exactly is it that I’m looking for?” he asks, flipping through a few pages.

“Careful!” chides Gaius. “Those books are older than you know. They’re only kept from disintegrating by magic—” 

“By magic itself. Yes, I know,” finishes Merlin. And he does know. He can feel the magic that imbues the pages of the book radiating out at him. He had noticed it from the time Gaius gave him his very first book on magic. The older the tome, the stronger the sense of magic that pervaded it.

“You’re looking for any mentions of ghouls, ghosts, the undead and any unexplained sightings of people who are dead,” Gaius says, sitting down opposite Merlin and putting on his reading glasses. He grins as he opens a book of his own. Gaius just _lives_ for searches like this; any excuse to sift through his magical archive and pick up bits and pieces of interesting information. 

Heaving a sigh big enough to ruffle a few pages, Merlin closes the book he’s been reading and clears his throat. “Gaius. I’ve been thinking about Morgana.”

Taking off his glasses, Gaius nods at him to continue.

“I think we ought to tell her to truth. That she’s not crazy, and she’s not mad. It’s not her mind that ails her, but untrained magic.”

Gaius tenses. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Merlin.”

“Why not, Gaius? If it were me, I’d want to know. She has a right to know!”

“Merlin,” says Gaius warningly. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. Trust me, it is better for Morgana that she continue on her treatment and remain unaware of her abilities.”

Merlin looks at him in horror. “How can you say that, Gaius? What if that had been me?”

“You are a different case to Morgana, Merlin. You have a mother who understood who you were from the moment you first opened your eyes. Before then, even. Even as she carried you, she knew you would be a special child. Morgana had no such family to support her. Uther would never had entertained the idea of such stuff and nonsense as magic. Do I wish that we had done things in a way that would have been less traumatic for her? Of course I do. But given her mother… I thought it best she be treated so she didn’t suffer the same fate.”

“Morgana’s mother?” asked Merlin. “What happened to her? I thought she had died in a car accident, and that’s how Morgana came to live with Arthur and Uther.”

Gaius purses his lips and gets up from the table. “No, I’ve already said too much.”

“Gaius!” says Merlin, drawing out his name in a whine. “You’ve already told me half of it already. Just tell me, please?”

“As long as you promise not to tell Morgana.”

Merlin looks skeptical for a few moments. “What if it’s something she should know?”

“It is for the best that she doesn’t. Especially given her mental state.” Gaius sighs and returns to the table. “Morgana’s mother, Vivianne, was troubled. She suffered from nightmares and… premonitions of bad things that ended up coming to pass. Sometimes nice things too, of course. But more often than not, her dreams were of a disturbing nature. The lack of respite and the terrible things that she saw, along with the realisation that her dreams were coming true around her, slowly drove her mad. In the end, she saw something so terrible that she took her own life.”

Merlin stares at Gaius, his mouth open. “Morgana had bad dreams! Back when we were at school.”

“Yes, Merlin.” Gaius nods. “She did. As soon as I realised that Morgana was showing the same symptoms as her mother, I set about seeing what I could do to suppress them. I didn’t want her to suffer the same fate as Vivianne. I pleaded with Uther to give me more time to help her, and I kept the specialists at bay as long as I could. But I daren’t use magic on a child of Uther’s, so there was only so much I could do to help her. And then she caused that fire in her room.”

“With magic?”

“Yes. Uther just about hit the roof when Morgana said she thought that she’d done it with her mind. For him, it was bad enough that Morgana had been acting out. But the fact that he believed she’d set her room alight and then told a story about it... He put his foot down and had her committed to an institution.”

“Poor Morgana. I remember when they came to take her. She was so scared. How could we have allowed that to happen, Gaius?”

With a sigh, Gaius rubs his face. “I know, and I will feel guilty about it until my dying day. I sat back and let all this happen to a helpless young girl, when I knew the cause of what ailed her. But the truth of the matter was that there was nothing anyone could have actually done to stop it, Merlin. Uther is Morgana’s father. Or at least, as far as she knew at the time, her legal guardian. He signed the paperwork and that was all that mattered. He was relentless about it, and Morgana is better for it now, isn’t she?”

“Only because they medicated her, not because she’s actually dealt with the issues behind it! She’s not ill, Gaius. If she was told that she has magic… we could help her, I’m certain. How can you sit there and claim that she’s better off not knowing what she is? Look, will you come and talk with her, at least? I think you owe her that much.”

“I retired as a general practitioner years ago, Merlin. I’m not able to help treat her.”

“I know.” Merlin nods. “But you still have your licence for this place, and I think we should at least try. Ever since she saw Arthur, she’s been convinced she is going crazy. Again. We calmed her down last night, but it’s there in her eyes, haunting her as much as any nightmare. She deserves to know the truth.”

With a weary sigh, Gaius says, “I promise you, Merlin. I will do what I can to put things right.”

They read together in a comfortable silence again, until eventually the peace is interrupted by Gaius. 

“Hmm,” he says with a frown. “There is a mention here about a ritual to return a soul to the afterlife.”

He turns the book around and pushes it towards Merlin, pointing his index finger at the relevant passage so that Merlin can read it for himself. He follows the text carefully, making sure that he is correctly interpreting every word. All it says is that the ritual was performed at Beltane, to honour and worship life at a time where the earth’s energies were at their strongest and most active, and the veil between the living and the dead was almost at its thinnest. Otherwise, it’s not very forthcoming with information, and Merlin is sorely disappointed.

“This is no use, Beltane was yesterday,” Merlin complains. “Arthur said that he had until the next full moon to solve his ‘unfinished business’,” he says using air quotes, “and then he can cross the veil. We don’t have time to wait for Beltane again. What I want to know is whether Arthur’s veil and the one mentioned here are one and the same. Is this saying that there might be another way to let him cross?”

Gaius shakes his head. “No, no. Go back to the beginning of the story. How does Arthur know these things? Who told him and what is his unfinished business?”

Merlin purses his lips and drops his eyes down to his book, opening it again. “His mother told him,” he says. “Or at least, that’s what Arthur says. He said he met her in the void.”

Gaius hums to himself.

“Do you think it was actually her?” Merlin asks cautiously. “I didn’t want to break it to Arthur that magic—not that this is necessarily magic—doesn’t always work that way and sometimes we’re shown things that aren’t always what they seem. He was so happy to have met her, I couldn’t do that to him.”

Gaius gets up and walks over to his books again, his eyes perusing the shelves. “The void, did you say? Hmm.” He pulls out and book and flicks through the pages until he reaches one in particular and walks back towards Merlin. “In this book, the writer mentions a woman who had died. It’s an account from her about how her soul passed into the void, where she was met by her spirit guide. The account also mentions several others who’ve had similar encounters. The guide is usually someone who was kin and has passed away, or someone who shares their heart with the recently deceased. Sounds very similar to what Arthur described.” 

Merlin takes the book from him to see from himself, a smile creeping onto his face. “Yes, this sounds exactly how Arthur described it. So it probably was Ygraine, then.” Merlin flicks to the next page. “Does it mention anything about how to cross over? How to get past the void? This whole ‘unfinished business’ thing seems a bit vague. I mean, I know we need to figure out who wanted to kill Arthur, but is that everything? He was supposed to be marrying Gwen, but he never got to. Is that unfinished business?” Merlin reads to the end of the passage, but can find nothing helpful. “Well, that was as clear as mud,” he grumbles.

“Don’t worry, my boy. We’ll keep looking. Where is Arthur, anyway?”

“He was sleeping when I left,” says Merlin, picking up where he left off in the book of Hergest.

“Sleeping? I didn’t think ghosts were in need of sleep.”

Merlin looks up at him and frowns. “He didn’t use to, until yesterday. He used to binge watch Netflix. If he concentrates really hard, he can push a button. But, I don’t know. It feels like… like maybe things are changing.”

“Hmm. You should bring him here so that I can talk to him.” 

With a sigh, Merlin nods. “I will. But let’s not mention the magic, okay?”

Gaius nods in agreement and goes back to his reading.

They both jump some time later as Merlin’s phone rings, bursting through the silence that has pervaded the room.

Merlin pulls it out of his pocket; an unknown number. He swipes at the screen to accept the call. “Hello?” 

_“Oh Merlin, thank goodness!”_ comes a female voice, faint and shaky.

“Morgana?” he asks cautiously. 

_”Yes, it’s me.”_

He covers the phone and whispers, “It’s Morgana,” to Gaius. “Hi Morgana, how can I help you?” he asks.

 _”Merlin, she’s here. You have to help me. She’s here and she’s knocking at the door!”_ says Morgana, her voice panicked.

“What? Who? Who’s knocking at the door?” he asks, eying Gaius cautiously as he makes some kind of gesture which Merlin assumes means: ‘what’s going on?’.

_“The lady. The lady from my dreams. She’s here to question me.”_

“Your dreams? What dreams?”

 _“The ones I’ve been having for weeks,”_ Morgana confesses.

“What happens in them?” 

_“I—I don’t know. I can’t quite remember them. They’re fuzzy. Incomplete. But she's always always there. Sometimes she comes for me, and now she’s here, knocking on the door! Please, please come, Merlin. She wants to question me.”_

Now Morgana is just repeating herself and making herself more panicked. If only Merlin knew the right words to help calm her. He’s so terrible at these things. He curses Gwen for taking time away to visit Elyan. He could really use her common sense right now.

“Look, it’s all right. Don’t worry,” Merlin tries to reassure her. “I’ll come to you. Where are you?” He sincerely hopes it’s not at his place. It shouldn’t be, since he never gave her a copy of the key.

_”I’m at Gwen’s. She said she’d be coming home tonight. I need to go back, I need to go back.”_

“Hold on, Morgana. It will all be okay, I’ll be there soon. Just, don’t panic. It will be fine, there’s no need to worry. I’m sure it’s just… a coincidence. Take deep breaths. I’m on my way.”

 _”Thank you, Merlin,”_ Morgana whispers, and then the line goes dead.

“Well?” asks Gaius impatiently.

“Morgana is having some kind of... panic attack. We should go to her. We need to calm her down.”

“We?” says Gaius with confusion.

“Yes, _we_. It’s time that we told her what she is, so that she can stop being terrified of her own mind. Remember her mother,” Merlin cautions, his voice low and deep. Gaius looks momentarily startled, and then nods his head in agreement. Merlin gets up from the bench. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

The door opens and a very scared, yet relieved-looking Morgana pokes her head around it. “Merlin? Thank you so much for coming, I was so scared.” Her eyes move past him as she spots Gaius behind him. “Oh. And… Gaius is here too.” She draws herself up and puts on her cold, calm and collected demeanor. “How sweet.”

“Morgana,” says Gaius warmly. “It’s good to see you again. I was there when Merlin received your phone call and wondered if I might be able to offer my assistance. Could we come in?”

She frowns, but opens the door wider and gestures for them both to come inside.

“Thank you,” says Gaius with a nod.

Once inside, they gather around the small dining room table, where Merlin has had many a meal with Arthur and Gwen. 

“If you’ve come to convince me that I’m not crazy, you’re too late. I emailed Aglain already to arrange to go home.”

“But that’s not your home, Morgana. You belong here, with your friends and family,” says Merlin. “Don’t let yourself be scared off by the police coming to visit. Despite what you’ve been dreaming about, they’re not here for you, I promise.” Honestly, Merlin could kick Elena Godwin. Who did she think she was, coming here and scaring Morgana like this?

Morgana’s eyes flash at him. “You may have come to be with me because I called you, but Aglain has been more of a friend to me than anyone.”

Gaius sighs deeply. “What Merlin means to say is, he believes you will be better off here, once you have calmed down from your fright, and I am certain you will feel much happier once know the truth.”

She shoots them both a dark, questioning look, and Merlin feels like maybe they won’t even need to tell her the news, she’ll be able to discern it from probing the very depth of their souls with her gaze. “What do you mean, ‘the truth’?” she asks, and there is an undertone of anger in her voice.

“It is something I should have told you a long time ago, Morgana: the truth about the things that you see when you dream and the strange things that you can make happen with the power of your mind.”

Merlin slips away to the small kitchenette around the corner and busies himself making tea so that he doesn’t have to be present at the table for this part of the conversation. The sooner Gaius explains things to her the better, in Merlin’s opinion. They had hidden the truth of Morgana’s powers from her for far too long, and it would be better to have Gaius explain it all to her now than wait and perhaps have him change his mind.

Behind him, he hears Morgana say, “Gaius, what are you trying to say? Please stop beating around the bush and tell me.”

“You have magic,” replies Gaius.

Merlin itches to stick his head around the corner to see Morgana’s initial reaction, but he makes himself stay exactly where he is, teaspoon gripped in his hand so tightly he wonders if he might bend it, either by sheer strength or with his magic. He places the spoon back on the counter. He shouldn’t listen in. This is a conversation for Morgana and Gaius to have, at least to start with. Eventually, it would be helpful for Morgana to know that she’s not alone, but Merlin’s not ready for her to know about his powers yet. His mother has always drilled into him that his magic is a secret to be guarded with his life, and the only people who’ve ever found out are those who have magic themselves. Whilst Morgana falls into that category… he’s worried she’s going to be angry that he never said anything. So he continues to hide, feet frozen as he eavesdrops on the conversation.

“I’m sorry, Gaius,” says Morgana. She sounds disbelieving. “Could you repeat that, please? Because I’m sure you just said I had _magic_.”

“You did hear me say magic,” agrees Gaius.

“But—but—that’s…”

“Impossible?” Gaius suggests.

“Yes,” says Morgana in clipped tones. “And preposterous. You can’t honestly believe it to be true! If you do, you must be as mentally unhinged as Uther thinks I am.”

“I think that if you look inside your heart, Morgana, you will realise that it is the truth. And I know it to be so, because I have a small amount of magic myself.”

“No,” she insists. “This is just… it’s my…”

“I can assure you that you are perfectly well, Morgana. There is nothing wrong with you, per se, other than some wayward magic you’ve yet to learn how to control. Though, I will admit, the gift of Seeing is one which can not always be mastered.”

Merlin finds himself holding his breath as he listens for Morgana’s response. He’s read a bit about Seers and he can’t help but feel that, even now, Gaius is not being completely truthful with Morgana. Seers are notorious throughout history for having mental health problems and being driven to insanity by the things that they see in their dreams. Look at what happened to Morgana’s mother.

“Then surely I am better off where I am. The medications stop me from having… bad dreams. They let me sleep and give me peace. I won’t go back to the way I was before, Gaius. I don’t want to.”

Merlin can hear the scraping of a chair, and then Gaius speaks again. “I understand, Morgana, and you don’t have to come off of any medications if you don’t want to. I am still a doctor, and a pharmacist besides, but I don’t think a bit of training to help control your abilities would go amiss. It could be the difference between making your visions work for you and being a slave to them for the rest of your life. You could use your ability to see what you want to see, instead of letting your power control you.”

Morgana laughs nervously. “You talk as if these visions, these dreams are sentient.”

“Well, magic is an interesting thing. Sometimes it controls the sorcerer; but with time, dedication and training, the sorcerer can become the one who is in control. Of course, some people just seem to be naturally very adept at controlling their power…”

Merlin flushes hot. He knows that Gaius is referring to him, as he has always praised the unnatural level of control Merlin has had over his abilities and the way that he can shape and bend his magic to his own will. It had been stressful for his mother, raising a child with such magic, but with Gaius’s careful guidance and under Hunith’s watchful eyes, Merlin had managed to make it through his childhood fairly unscathed. 

“...I myself had to cultivate mine. Like fanning a small spark into a flame or a small fire. Your magic is far greater.”

There’s a scraping of a chair again, then the sound of pacing footsteps. “No. Not it’s not real, I’m just seeing these things… hearing the things that I want to hear…”

“I can assure you, magic is as real as you and I. Close your eyes, clear your mind and just _feel_. I know that if you focus, you will feel the very essence of magic running through your veins, the same way you can feel your blood pumping around your body. Just let your senses go and find that spark–find that flame and let it free.”

Silence falls, and Merlin is desperate to peek around the corner and see what is going on, but he stays put, drumming his fingers on the countertop.

Suddenly there’s a scream, and a sudden exclamation from Gaius. Merlin hurries around the corner, his eyes widening at the sight of Gaius patting down a small fire that is burning in the middle of the dining room table. As Merlin watches, Gaius gives up and utters a few words. The air bristles with magic for a brief moment, and a small gust of wind snuffs the fire out. 

“It’s okay. It’s fine,” Gaius reassures Morgana with a gentle hand to her shoulder. “We’re all safe, it was just a little accident. That’s all. Nothing to worry about.” Morgana doesn’t look convinced, but she isn’t trying to run away, either. “These things take time. You’ll have more control over it the more that you practice. Now, if you’re up for it, I think we can try one more time and see if you can light this candle. All you need to do is focus all your thoughts here, on the wick, and then…”

Merlin hurries back into the kitchen, his heart thundering in his chest. So it’s true then. Morgana does indeed have magic, just as Merlin had always known. He takes a deep breath and begins to pace the small space between the kitchenette and the front door. The table is out of view from this angle, and he won’t be able to eavesdrop, but now that he knows that Morgana truly does have magic, he’s suddenly feeling much less nosy. Showing too much interest in the proceedings could make Morgana suspicious, and being linked with magic is a slippery slope to being thought of as crazy these days.

Arthur sits at the table in Merlin’s kitchen, feeling bored. He’d woken up that morning—and that had been a weird, though satisfying feeling—to an empty flat, with no sign of Merlin anywhere. He hadn’t slept since before he’d died, and he’d pretty much come to the conclusion that as a ghost he just didn’t need it, until yesterday when he’d found himself drifting off. He had wanted to ask Merlin about it, but of course, Merlin had taken the opportunity to bugger off to God knows where. He wonders why he is still here and hasn’t been whipped off into the void. He supposes he’s been managing to stick around more and more lately without Merlin always being present, although he’s not sure that’s necessarily a good thing. Maybe it’s because his time is starting to run out.

He drums his fingers on the table and goes to fiddle with his thumb ring, only to rediscover that it’s missing all over again. He hates it. He feels naked without it. Stupid afterlife. The least they—whoever ‘they’ are—could have done is given his ghost form a thumb ring. It’s as much a part of him as his teeth and his hair, and he still has _those_ , he pouts to himself. He leans his head on his arm and sighs, his eyes drawn inexorably towards Merlin’s door.

The sounds that had come from that room the night before replay in his head, unbidden. He’s still a bit shocked by the whole thing. He’s known Merlin is gay for almost as long as Merlin has. But he’s never really thought about Merlin with other guys before. Merlin had never mentioned to Arthur to any serious boyfriend or partner since Barcelona. In fact, the only boyfriend he’s ever met since then—if you could even call him that—was Edwin, and that had been all the way back at the beginning of uni. He had used Merlin terribly and then dumped him, so Arthur had never really seen it as anything more than a fling. Surely Merlin hasn’t been celibate all the time since, has he? Arthur feels badly that he doesn’t know this about his best friend. If Merlin has had boyfriends, then they’ve never affected his relationship with Arthur, as far as Arthur can remember. He’s never felt a noticeable lack of Merlin in his life, like he has with other friends when they’ve gone off with new girlfriends. Merlin has always just… been there for Arthur, a constant centre for Arthur’s life. It had never really dawned on him until now that Merlin must have been having sex with other guys for years without his knowing about it. 

He clenches his teeth, and his fingers dig into his palms so hard that if he were corporeal he’d be drawing blood. Of course, it’s not like Merlin is actually dating anyone, least of all Arthur. He’s free to sleep with whoever he likes. Arthur just hadn’t really… realised that he actually was. Now that he knows about it, there’s a tight ball of feelings knotted in his gut that he can’t quite explain, and he’s not sure he really wants to investigate them any further.

All he knows is that he can’t stay here for a moment longer without wanting to punch a hole in the wall, or through that Mordred bloke’s stupid head. He grips his hair in frustration. He can’t stay here. But where can he go? He wants to be with Merlin, but he’s not anywhere to be found in the quiet flat. He can’t explain why he feels that way, just that there’s a little hollow feeling in his chest and a longing to see his friend, as though it’s been ages since they last spoke to one another, not mere hours. But where is Merlin, if he’s not here? Maybe he’s gone to see Gaius again? He feels a sudden tug in his chest. No, Gwen’s. He’d bet anything that Merlin is a Gwen’s place. Most likely to see how Morgana is doing. Arthur doesn’t know why it’s been so easy to adapt to calling his old flat “Gwen’s”; he had lived there for well over two years with her, and it seems as if he should still think of it as _their place_ , but it just seems natural to call it Gwen’s. He feels a gentle tug again, pulling ever-so-slightly on the left side of his chest like a delicate, fine thread that is somehow attached to him is being pulled. He closes his eyes and follows it. 

When he rematerialises, he’s surprised to find Merlin standing right in front of him, lingering near the front door as Arthur passes through it. There’s a weird smell in the air, like something’s been burning.

“Merlin,” he says. “I woke up and you were gone. What are you doing _here_ , of all places?”

Merlin gestures for him to keep his voice down. “I went to see Gaius this morning—” he begins in a hushed voice.

“Gaius is back?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Yes. I told him about us—you—the whole... being a ghost thing. And I mentioned about Morgana being able to see you too. He wanted to talk with her and reassure her that she wasn’t—you know…”

“Going mad?

“Right. So we came here.”

“Gaius believes us then?” Arthur asks anxiously.

Merlin raises his eyebrows in a, ‘come on, it’s _Gaius_ ’ kind of way, and Arthur does recall that Gaius was always interested in the more… unusual cases when he was a doctor. It’s part of the reason why his father had asked Gaius to check on Morgana and give his medical opinion. The physician had spent a lot of time with her, administering medications and trying to stop her night terrors. Not that it had made any difference in the end. His father had become impatient with Gaius’s slow progress, and had Morgana put away.

Arthur can’t help but be thankful that Gaius will be there to help Morgana deal with his return.

“Thank you, Merlin,” he says. “Did Gaius say anything about my being a ghost?”

“He was surprised. I think he thought I was making it up, until I told him about Morgana and Mordred seeing you too.”

The sound of that man’s name dropping so casually from Merlin’s lips makes Arthur bristle. “And does he know anything about what I need to do to cross over? How to get through the void?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No. There are mentions of the void and meeting loved ones there in one of his books, but all that we could find about crossing over was an account which said that it would happen when the soul was satisfied.”

“Merlin?” calls Morgana’s voice from somewhere out of sight. “Is that you?”

“Uh—yes, it’s me. I’m uh, just finishing the tea!” Merlin calls back. He rushes over to the kitchenette and throws a few teabags into the mugs.

“Sugar, Morgana?” he asks, stirring two teaspoons into his own.

“No, thank you, I…” She rounds the corner and freezes as she sees Arthur. The smile instantly drops from her face, and she starts backing away the way she’d come. “I’ll just be with Gaius.”

She retreats around the corner, and Arthur trails after her, annoyed.

“Morgana!” he says. “Please don’t pretend you can’t see me!”

He follows her out into the living room, where she sits gingerly on the couch. She’s still refusing to so much as look at him, though he knows she’s watching him out of the corner of her eye.

Gaius comes in after them both and stares at Arthur. “Well, I’ll be!” he says. “You really _are_ a ghost.”

“Thank you, Gaius,” says Arthur with an eyeroll. “I was just coming to check on Morgana to see if she’s…” He sniffs the air and looks over towards the dining room. “Is that a hole in the dining room table? Gwen is going to be furious. How the fuck does something like that happen?” He gets closer and his eyes widen as he sees the scorch marks. The sight of the still-smoking wood makes him remember a night a long time ago, when Morgana had woken up screaming and screaming, and black acrid smoke had come pouring down the hallway from her wing of the house.

They’d said—Uther, the police, and the doctors—that Morgana had set fire to the room herself, that she was a disturbed girl who needed help. But Morgana...she’d tried desperately, frantically, to explain that it hadn’t been her at all. She had woken from a nightmare and looked across the room, and the curtains had caught fire all by themselves. Later, she had confided to Arthur that she thought she had actually set them alight, but without even touching them. And now, there Morgana is having walked away from a table with a huge scorched hole in it. Had she actually been telling the truth? At the time, Arthur had thought it was part of Morgana’s psychosis. For years, he’d believed that Morgana was genuinely ill. This table, the way it has been burned in such a precise manner, casts doubt on those beliefs once more.

Confused, he looks at Merlin, who glances away guiltily. Neither Gaius nor Morgana will meet his eye.

“Merlin…” Arthur says, turning on him. “What’s going on? What happened to the table?”

Merlin looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “I, um.” He swallows and Arthur’s eyes follow the dip of his throat. “It was me!” he blurts out. “I burnt the hole with, uh, magic.”

Arthur’s brow furrows. “Magic?” he says in disbelief.

“Yes,” Merlin replies meekly.

Arthur stares at him for a long moment. Obviously _magic_ is Merlin code for: I knocked over one of Gwen’s smelly candles and it burned a hole in the table. He grins and reaches out in an attempt to ruffle Merlin’s hair, as he was always wont to do in life, forgetting for a moment that he can’t. He realises with a pang of regret that he’ll never be able to do something like that with Merlin again. “Come on, Merlin, confess. You were being clumsy again, weren’t you?”

He pushes all thoughts of Morgana and her claims of arson aside in his mind. She was just upset and delusional, but she’s doing better now and he’s happy that she seems calmer and more centered than she’s been in the past. Magic! The very idea is as ridiculous as Merlin is.

“If you’ve quite finished, Merlin, we need to talk with Gaius and see if we can figure out what to do next. And Morgana, for the love of god, please stop pretending you can’t see me when everyone else in this room knows I’m here.”

Merlin rolls his eyes when he thinks Arthur can’t see him, and takes a seat at the slightly charred table. “All right, Mr Know-it-All. Where do you want to start?”

Merlin sighs deeply, shoving his hands into his pockets as they exit the block of flats.

“Well, that was a bit of a bust then,” comments Arthur rather unhelpfully.

Merlin shoots him a glare and keeps on walking down the street at a fast pace to the nearest tube station. Annoying as it is to admit, Arthur is right. Kara Simmons hadn’t seen anything at all untoward and barely even remembered talking to Merlin with her gaggle of gal pals. She was the last on the list of party attendees that they’d been able to get addresses for, barring Gwaine, of course. No one had really seen anything particularly incriminating, though plenty of them had noticed Gwen and Arthur’s little fight, much to Arthur’s annoyance. From those they’ve been able to talk to, almost all of the guests had stayed in the main hall for the entirety of the party, save for those lucky few who had been carted off by Morgause to get a sneak peek at her new fashion range.

After heading down the usual several escalators and long winding corridors, they arrive at the underground platform and wait together for the next train. Merlin looks around anxiously, wondering if there’s anyone there who can see Arthur standing on the platform. He closes his eyes and clears all thoughts from his mind, _feeling_ for any traces of magic. But aside from some small latent sparks in one or two people nearby who have the _potential_ to be a little bit magic, there’s no one with powers strong enough to actually see the dead. He breathes a sigh of relief, and they board the next train.

“So where are we off to next?” Arthur asks, when they emerge back onto the street. “Hope it’s not too long a walk. We’ve been at it for ages.”

“It’s not far. And I thought you’d be glad that we were doing this. So far we’ve managed to rule out at least 20 guests as viable suspects, and possibly most of the others as well.”

“I am glad that we’re looking into things. But it’s pointless knocking yourself out at over it. It’s obvious that no one really saw anything that will help,” Arthur points out. “You didn’t even stop for lunch.”

Merlin hunkers down into the upturned collar of his jacket and picks up the pace. The weather has turned and it’s starting to drizzle. “Still got one last person to talk to,” he says, jogging up the steps in front of Arthur.

He glances at his phone to double-check the address and then rings the door buzzer to be let into the building.

“Merlin! You wait up. You can’t just run off like that.”

“I wasn’t running.”

“You know what I mean,” says Arthur. He reaches out to grab Merlin’s arm, and Merlin shudders, chills travelling down his spine as Arthur’s hand sinks through his flesh. Arthur practically growls with frustration. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“No reason. You said it yourself; it’s been a long day. I just want to talk with one more guest and then get home.”

At that moment the door opens, and Merlin slips inside the building. He takes a second or two to figure out where Gwaine’s flat is and then heads off in the appropriate direction.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going, or who we’re supposed to be talking to,” Arthur says, in that tone of his that demands an answer.

They reach their destination and Merlin reaches out to knock on the door, ignoring Arthur’s question. He knows what Arthur’s reaction will be if he finds out where they are. He doesn’t want to hear Arthur’s thoughts on Gwaine, or anything related to his love life just at the moment. They still haven’t talked about the other night when Arthur came barging into his room mid-coitus like he was some kind of damsel in distress. He has enough leftover embarrassment from that to last him a lifetime, and as far as Merlin is concerned, the longer they put the conversation off, the better. 

It wasn’t like Merlin had planned on going to see Gwaine with Arthur in tow. He and Gwaine have kept in touch a little bit since the party. Merlin had kept his promise and let Gwaine know what had happened that night at the hospital. Gwaine has been supportive and kind. But still very persistant in asking him for a date. In fact, he’d messaged him earlier today and Merlin had told him; thanks, but no thanks. He _still_ wasn’t interested. But since he’d had Gwaine’s ear anyway and they needed to interview the party guests, would it be okay if he came over to question him about the night of Arthur’s death? He had figured since he’s already out and they’ve already interviewed a bunch of different people, it made sense to see Gwaine as well.

The sound of someone unlocking the door draws Merlin’s attention, and he straightens up and futiltively tries to smooth a few wrinkles from his creased and faded t-shirt. A mop of dark, floppy hair appears around the edge of the door, attached a very familiar face, set with deep brown eyes. Gwaine grins and nods, clearly pleased to see him.

His happiness is catching, and Merlin can’t help but grin back. “Hello, Gwaine.”

“Ah, Merlin! How are you?” Gwaine says with a twinkle.

 _”Gwaine!”_ Arthur splutters. _“That bloke you snogged at the party?_ He’s _the one who’s going to help us figure out the murderer, is he? How’s he going to do that? With his tongue?”_

“Arthur,” says Merlin through his teeth, barely a whisper. “Shut. Up.”

_”Oh, I see! So we’re here so that you can get laid again, is that it?”_

Merlin turns his head and gives Arthur a full-on glare.

“Are you sure you’re doing all right, mate? I mean, I know you said you were managing after your friend’s—” Gwaine waggles his eyebrows, “death. But you’re acting funny.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry. Look, can we—can I come in?”

Gwaine pushes open the door and beckons Merlin inside. “Of course, make yourself at home.” Merlin steps through the door, and Gwaine pushes it closed, unknowingly sending it sailing straight through Arthur’s body.

_”Hey, watch it!”_

They settle on the sofa together, their knees knocking, whilst Arthur manages to arrange himself in the arm chair, legs crossed and his head resting in his hand. He glares over at them mutinously, giving Gwaine in particular a number of long, dark stares, even though Gwaine can’t see him.

“Can I get you anything?” Gwaine asks. “Tea, coffee, beer? Something stronger…?” He places his arm along the top of the sofa behind Merlin’s head, and Merlin feels his magic prickle oddly, as though it’s not comfortable with such an intimate gesture. Strange. It’s never reacted like this to someone he’s found attractive before. 

“Oh, um. No thanks. Been a long day and we’d sooner go home, after we’ve asked you a few questions. If that’s okay with you.”

“We?” says Gwaine, sounding confused as he casts his eyes over towards the front door. “It’s just you and I here, Merlin.”

Merlin can feel his treacherous ears heating with embarrassment. He _has_ to stop referring to himself _and_ Arthur as “we” when he’s having conversations with others. He might be forgiven the occasional slip up for now, with Arthur’s death being so new. But pretty soon people will start to think that he’s losing his marbles. “I’m sorry. I meant me, I. It’s a force of habit. From when...you know.”

Gwaine sighs and pats Merlin on the leg. Merlin can feel his magic roll uncomfortably at the physical contact. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that, mate. Must be tough on you, losing him like that.”

“It was,” Merlin agrees, looking at his hands in his lap.

“I know how much you were into him.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm, and he darts a glance over towards Arthur before looking back at Gwaine. “I was not!” he denies hotly.

“Come on, now. I’m not blind you know. And it’s not like he was unattractive. Under different circumstances, I think the two of you would have really complemented each other.” Gwaine grins at him, unaware of the havoc he’s wreaking, and plunges on. “Given the way he looked at you sometimes, it did make me wonder if the two of you weren’t playing some kind of game with me.”

“What!?”

From the armchair, Arthur makes a choking sound, and Merlin wonders for a moment if he might have to administer some kind of first aid, despite the fact that Arthur’s already dead. He feels sick to the stomach with the thought that Arthur might connect the dots Gwaine has so helpfully laid out for him, and figure out that Merlin’s been harbouring feelings for him all this time. 

“Come on. I could see your devotion to each other that night at the party. You were liked an old married couple. Not the blond and his missus. And some of the looks he gave you! I’m not surprised I never stood a chance. But I was wondering whether, now he’s gone, you might think again. And I know, I know. You’re going to say it’s too soon and I’m not the kind of guy that’s waltzes in when you’re at your most vulnerable. I’m willing to wait and give you space. Just wanted to let you know that the offer is still on the table, if and when you’re ready to get back in the saddle.”

There’s a loud smashing noise, and Gwaine ducks instinctively as a vase sails over his head and hits the opposite wall. Merlin glances over to see Arthur standing there, his face red with anger and his fists clenched. Merlin glares at him.

“What the hell…?” Gwaine brushes some of the remains of ceramic out of his hair and turns to look at the damage to the wall behind him. “Where did that come from?”

“Are you all right?” Merlin asks anxiously, looking Gwaine over for any sign that he’s hurt.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. I just—I don’t know what just happened.”

Merlin looks back at Arthur, who is still fuming, but at least he has the decency to look sheepish about things. Shaking his head, Gwaine heads out to the kitchen, presumably in search of something to clean up the mess. Merlin and Arthur just stand there frozen, their gazes locked.

This whole thing is so typical. Arthur has always been demanding of Merlin’s time and presence, ever since they first met, Merlin thinks exasperatedly. It had finally reached the point a few years ago where Merlin had given up the thought of ever having a proper relationship with someone else. Mostly because it wouldn’t have been fair to them, given how much of his life was dedicated to Arthur, not to mention the fact that he’d lost his heart to Arthur long ago. But what had Gwaine meant by the looks Arthur had given him? What looks? Arthur hadn’t looked at him any differently that night than he had on other occasions, at least not that Merlin can recall. Is Gwaine honestly trying to insinuate that _Arthur_ has feelings for him? He’ll have to think about that later. Right now he has more pressing issues.

“Arthur, what they hell was that all about?” says Merlin quietly, when he can finally trust himself to speak.

Arthur turns away from him, folding his arms across his chest. “Nothing,” he mutters. 

“Arthur, that was _not_ nothing,” Merlin hisses. “You threw a vase at Gwaine’s head! How the fuck did you do that? No, wait. Wait. WHY. _Why_ the fuck did you do that?”

Just as Arthur starts to turn to reply, Gwaine appears at the doorway, taking a cautious glance around the room before he bustles in with a dustpan and brush.

“Give me just a tick and I’ll get all this cleared up. What were the questions you wanted to ask?”

Merlin finally peels his eyes away from Arthur, who is looking at him rather contritely.

“Oh yeah, I wanted to ask you about the party. I’ve been looking into Arthur’s death.”

Gwaine bends to sweep up the shattered ceramic shards and nods at Merlin. “Yeah, the police came over here to ask about that, too. A cute blonde girl. Elena.” He waggles his eyebrows at Merlin again. “You wouldn’t happen to have her number would you? She looks like she’d be a lot of fun once she’s off-duty.”

Merlin shakes his head with amusement and then changes the subject back to Arthur. “So, can you tell me what happened that night? From your perspective.”

Gwaine stands up, the broken vase now safely gathered in the dustpan. “Yeah, sure I can. I arrived pretty early and had a couple of drinks with Cenred and Morgause to toast the launch of her new fashion line. Then I schmoozed a bit with the guests as they were arriving—Cenred wanted me to help to make sure everyone was having a good time…”

“Ah,” says Merlin. Damn it. He _knew_ it was too good to be true that Gwaine would actually be interested in him. He can feel Arthur watching them both carefully, his expression a mixture of amusement and annoyance at Gwaine’s words.

“Hey!” replies Gwaine. “That’s not what that was.”

“Wasn’t it?” asks Merlin sceptically. “It’s okay. I’m a big boy. You can tell me the truth—that you only flirted with me because Cenred and Morgause wanted you to.”

“Nah, you’ve got it all wrong, Merls. I was nice and talked with people because they wanted me to. What I did with you was because I wanted to,” Gwaine says with a wink. “I thought that it might cheer you up. But since you carried on giving the princess moon eyes, I guess my _skills_ are not as good as I thought they were.

“I was not mooning over anyone!” denies Merlin for a second time.

Gwaine just shoots him a skeptical look. “Anyway, after that, I went and talked with a few other guests about boring stuff like art and investments. Not really my scene. Now, talk to me about _music_...” He eyes the worn, faded guitar in the corner of the room with a deep and abiding love. “Then we’ll have a decent conversation. I saw Cenred being a bit too friendly with you, though. Did he proposition you?”

Merlin can feel the heat from a flush creeping up the back of his neck. “Kind of. I told him I wasn’t interested. I was just there to investigate his case.”

“Ah, yes. The detective agency you ran with the princess.”

 _“He really needs to stop calling me princess,”_ warns Arthur darkly. _“Or he might find himself with a photoframe heading towards him next.”_

Merlin narrows his eyes at Arthur and opens his mouth to reply, when he remembers where he is and that Gwaine can’t see Arthur.

“Yeah. Sorry about lying about that.”

“Ah, we both knew the score. Anyway. Princess went off with Morgause for a bit. Came back. Searched through the crowds for you. I was going to tell him you’d gone off with Cenred, but he stormed out of there in a huff. That’s all I saw. Except for when we went down the corridor, I didn’t leave that part of the house for the rest of the party.”

Merlin nods and sighs internally. So no new leads from Gwaine then. “Thanks, Gwaine.”

“Ah, no problem.” He holds out his free hand to Merlin, who takes it and they shake. “No hard feelings, huh? I’d like to still be friends, if that’s good with you.”

“Yeah,” smiles Merlin. “I’d like that.”

 _‘Come on, Merlin. Enough with the niceties. He doesn’t know anything. Let’s go,”_ growls Arthur. He grabs at Merlin’s arm, huffing with frustration when he can’t take hold of him. _“Merlin, come on.”_

Grudgingly agreeing, Merlin says his goodbyes and allows Gwaine to show him to the door. He’s only a little surprised when the other man ends the visit with a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“See you around, friend,” he says, smiling. “Let me know if you change your mind. I still think we’d be magical together.”

Merlin nods, smiling, and hurries down the corridor after Arthur, who is striding ahead of him towards the exit. He seems pretty eager to put as much distance between himself and Gwaine as possible. 

“Arthur!” calls Merlin, as soon as he reaches the end of the corridor. “Wait up.” Then he adds, “Please.”

Arthur halts and turns to look at him. 

“What was all that about in there with Gwaine?” Merlin demands.

“He had no business to be talking about me— you—about us like that! He’s a— a— a cad! You shouldn’t have anything further to do with him. Much less think about...” Arthur tails off into an angry silence.

“About what? Having sex with him?” asks Merlin, following Arthur through the maze of corridors. His volume starts to get louder the more enraged he gets. “Well, excuse me! I wasn’t aware I had to run the people who I choose to have sex with through you first!” 

“Well, you should!” Arthur snaps back, turning abruptly and gesturing back the way they’d come. “You can do better than that Casanova in there!”

“Gee, thanks.” Merlin scowls. “Why are you so interested in my sex life all of a sudden, anyway? First you have an issue with me and Gwaine hooking up at the party, then you come charging in on me and Mordred like the house was on fire. Something you never did explain to me properly, by the way. Why _did_ you charge in like that?”

“I—I—” Arthur’s face is bright red, and Merlin stops and folds his arms in front of his chest.

“I’m waiting,” he says. He knows it’s a bit cruel of him to push, but Arthur is way, WAY out of line, and Merlin wants him to experience the same kind of embarrassment, if not mortification, that he’s been feeling over Arthur’s behaviour. 

“I thought you were in trouble. I thought he was hurting you!”

“Oh God, Arthur!” exclaims Merlin, cringing. “I don’t need you to charge in to rescue me from anything, okay?”

“You did the other day,” Arthur mutters mulishly, red-faced.

Merlin raises an eyebrow. Gods, right now he wishes that Arthur knew all about his magic. Then he would know how much power flows beneath Merlin’s skin, ready to defend himself with a single thought. That he’s not weak or helpless or needy. He can look after himself, and he could have looked after Arthur, keeping him safe from harm, if he’d been with him the night of the accident. “I would have handled it without you,” he mutters.

“Keep telling yourself that, Merlin,” Arthur says over his shoulder as he carries on out of the building. “Let’s just get home and put all of this behind us.”

The tube is quieter now than it had been earlier, and Merlin plops down in an empty seat and glances up at the map opposite to see how many stops they have left until they have to change to get onto the next line.

Arthur settles down next to him. _“So…”_ he begins. _“If you had to, which one would you go for? The guy with the glasses,”_ he nods further down the carriage, _“or the guy reading Harry Potter?”_

Merlin’s head jerks up in surprise. “What?” he asks.

_“Which one would you sleep with?”_

Merlin presses his hands against his eyes. He can’t believe they’re doing this; that his all-time crush is asking him to rate guys in front of him. He doesn’t want either of them, because neither of them are Arthur. “Arthur,” he replies, not bothering to remove his hands. “You can’t ask me those kinds of things!”

_“Why not?”_

“Because I don’t need my straight best mate pointing out all the potentially-eligible, possibly-gay men in London, thanks.”

_“I think you should ask Harry Potter guy out.”_

“Arthur,” groans Merlin in frustration. “Just stop it, all right?”

Of course, all this serves to do is to make Arthur more stubborn than usual.

_“Okay, not Harry Potter guy. Shame, you liked the books well enough. Glasses guy, then? No? Fair enough, I just figured you might be more into dark-haired blokes after that Mordred guy.”_

“Arthur. _Please_! I really don’t need your help landing myself a date, all right?”

Arthur chuckles. _“Really? Then how is it I’ve seen you with a grand total of two guys—okay, three if you count Gwaine—since you left school?”_

Gods, Arthur sounds so smug and all-knowing that Merlin just wants to punch him so that he’ll finally shut up. He’s let Arthur control so much of his life, whether he was conscious of it or not. Never able to stick with a relationship for long enough because they weren’t enough like Arthur, or finding someone that he might finally be able to be happy with and then seeing Arthur and having all those deep down thoughts and feelings racing to the fore. It’s infuriating and exasperating that even now, Arthur is trying to do this for him, trying to force him to move on when Merlin knows full well that he can’t. He’s been attempting to do so for years.

The train is nearing their stop, and one of the guys gets off the train. Another enters the carriage in his place.

Arthur leans close to Merlin with a grin. _“Now, you can’t tell me you don’t fancy that one.”_

With a roll of his eyes and a scowl, Merlin looks the guy up and down. Shit. He looks a lot like Arthur. Similar height, similar hair colour, and he even has bright blue eyes which mirror Arthur’s own. 

“Very funny,” he says, glaring. “Pick out a guy who looks like you and make fun of me for it. Thanks very much, Arthur. Some friend you are!”

The other people in the carriage are starting to stare at him, and it takes him a minute to register the feel of their gazes on him. They must think he’s a complete psycho, sitting on the tube having an argument with thin air. Not that that’s an uncommon sight, sadly. Merlin remembers seeing people stared at and pitied for their behaviours in the past, and now he’s going to be one of them, thanks to Arthur and his ability to frustrate and annoy him. Oh well; in for a penny, in for a pound.

“I don’t need you to fix me up with every random guy you see. I’m perfectly capable of finding someone myself. Just because you’ve not met them, doesn’t mean I haven’t dated. It just means I didn’t deem it necessary to get your approval. Not everything in my life revolves around you!”

The train announcement calls out their stop, and Merlin storms over to the doors, leaving Arthur behind.

“Don’t follow me,” he growls, glaring at Arthur over his shoulder. 

The man hovering near the door takes a hasty step back, and Merlin rushes out the carriage as soon as the doors start to open. He has clients to see, cases to solve, and then he decides it’s high time he took a trip home to see his mum.

Later that night, however, when Merlin is safely curled up in his old bedroom in Ealdor, he’s still fuming. He can’t believe Arthur, he really can’t. Where does he get off trying to fix Merlin up with every eligible guy in London? He has no right to meddle in Merlin’s love life just because it has suddenly dawned on him that he has one. At least, Merlin hopes that’s all that this is about, and that Arthur hasn’t figured out his ultimate secret: that he’s been in love with Arthur since they were teenagers. Either way, Merlin doesn’t need his pity. He needs space to himself that’s not occupied by Arthur, and to do things for himself that don’t revolve around him. He’ll go back soon. Probably as early as tomorrow. But he just needs a bit of space for a while, to clear his head and gird his loins to face Arthur again.

Hunith had been delighted to see him, of course. She had happily made him a home-cooked meal and got his room ready for him, and it had almost been enough to make him forget about Arthur altogether. His mother had been careful to tip-toe around the subject of Arthur’s death, and Merlin guessed that’s what she thought had upset him enough to drive him back to Ealdor. They’d finished the evening watching rubbish TV together until Merlin had decided to call it a night.

Now here he is, back to square one, unable to get thoughts of Arthur out of his head. The way he laughs so delightedly when something tickles him just _so_ , throwing back his head and exposing the arc of his neck that Merlin would just love to lavish attention on. The way that his hair shines when the mid-morning sun makes it over to his desk. He feels himself getting hard just thinking of Arthur and all the things that make him such a perfect, beautiful, gorgeous prat. Like the way he— No. He has to stop this. Arthur is dead, and if it’s wrong to think of someone this way when they’re alive, surely it’s even worse to think of them like that when they’re dead. Even if they _can_ still talk to you from beyond the grave. Arthur doesn't like Merlin that way. He never has and he never will. Merlin simply needs to ignore his hard-on and will it away. It will go down eventually.

He looks over at his nightstand, not too far away from his bed, and his eyes fall on the teddy bear still sitting there. Arthur had won it for him one day at the Ealdor village fair just after they’d finished school. There’s a framed picture of them both as teens there, too. Arthur, bless him, with his spotty complexion and Merlin himself, looking lanky, his entire body nothing but sharp, awkward angles, which have softened a bit with age. Merlin remembers when that picture was taken. It was on a trip to Barcelona with his mum back when they were sixteen. It was the first time that Merlin had shared a bed with Arthur after he’d realised that he really, really liked guys. Arthur had known about that part; Merlin hadn’t been able to keep it a secret. What had finally clued him in was after he’d tried dating Freya the year before, and that had been a complete disaster right from the start. At the time, he hadn’t been able to realise why. And then it had all slotted into place. He had lain next to Arthur at night that holiday, longing for him; listening to his steady breathing and watching his chest as it rose and fell, taking in the curve of his noble nose and the way his blond hair flopped down over his forehead, bleached by the foreign sun. This picture had been taken before. Before that night when everything had changed. 

On that holiday, Merlin and Arthur had befriended a group of local lads thanks to Arthur’s social skills and Merlin’s linguistic ones. He’d been good with languages even then, thanks to Uncle Gaius. They had ended up spending most of their evenings tucked away in a sheltered woodland nook, gathered together around a campfire built from old pieces of driftwood washed up on the beach. Bottles of cheap beer and spliffs had passed between them.

One night, they’d returned home, drunk and a little bit high, to find Hunith still out at neighbouring house, where a British couple lived. Both of them had tumbled into bed, limbs tangling together in a desperate, intoxicating way. Arthur had made the first move, really, and Merlin had hardly even dared to breathe as the blood pounded in his head before rapidly heading south.

Arthur had flipped him onto his back and pinned him down with his body. Merlin felt his cock twitch at the memory of it. How deliciously wonderful it had been to be trapped by Arthur like that, helpless as he stared down at him with dark eyes and brought a trembling hand to Merlin’s face, running his fingers gently over Merlin’s lips. Merlin had exhaled and a small whimper had escaped with his breath, spurring Arthur out of his dazed trance. Arthur had pounced on him then, diving headlong into a probing kiss that had made Merlin’s toes curl.

They’d had sex that night. It had been Merlin’s first time, and whilst he had known that it wasn’t Arthur’s first time having sex, he did know it had been his first time doing anything with a man. He’d hoped it would be the beginning of something special. 

Merlin sighs to himself, and he lets the memory slip away. He knows that it’s pointless to hope, and ridiculous to pine for what could have been. Merlin can’t have Arthur. Even before Arthur died, Merlin had accepted that. But that’s what imaginations are for, right? As long as he never mentions it to another soul, and puts it from his mind whenever he’s around Arthur, he can pretend that Arthur is his. Imagine that Arthur loves him that way too.

It’s all too easy to pretend that, instead of Arthur rejecting him and pushing him away, things could have gone a different way after that night. They could have continued to kiss and experiment together, to find out what felt good and right. Merlin closes his eyes and slips his hands under the covers. He teases for a while, sliding his hand _just_ beneath the waistband of his boxers, stroking the soft, tender skin there with featherlight touches that have him gasping and tossing back his head. Merlin imagines that it’s Arthur, that he’s rubbing his fingers there and placing delicate little kisses along Merlin’s abdomen. He bites his lip as he slides a hand down his thigh and slowly back up again, then shoves his boxers down so that his hard cock bobs free, rubbing drops of pre-cum against the duvet. He kicks the boxers off and pushes them to the bottom of the bed. Then he grasps his cock and sighs happily. It’s so good. It’s always good when he allows himself to fantasize about Arthur, and the things they’d do if they were together. If he ever had the chance, Merlin would make sure that Arthur knew just how much he loved him by worshipping him like the golden king he is, kneeling between his knees whilst he lavished attention on that amazing cock. 

Merlin doesn’t have to make up his own ideas of what Arthur’s cock looks or feels like, either in his hand or in his arse, because he already knows. He hadn’t realised at the time that it was going to be a one-off thing. It had been easy to believe they could make a go of things when they’d woken up still kissing the next morning, ready for another round until Merlin’s mother’s voice had burst their little bubble and that had been it.

If only he had known. He would have taken more time to remember things, so that he’d have a clearer picture in his head, instead of half-baked memories that have faded over the years and gaps where Merlin’s imagination has filled in the blanks. The moment that Arthur’s cock had pushed into him though… that memory hasn’t faded. It had hurt so much he’d almost been brought to tears, and the burn had been so overwhelming he had buried his face in his arms. But then, as Arthur has slowly started to move inside him, the burn had begun to fade and all sorts of wonderful sensations replaced it.

Merlin brings his free hand to his mouth and sucks in two fingers, lathering them with spit. He slides the hand down between his legs, parting them as he circles a wet finger around his hole, which flutters at the sensation before he slowly pushes in. If they had stayed together, Merlin is sure that he and Arthur would have figured out together just how much Merlin loves to bottom. How he needs to be filled with a cock. He makes do with his toys at home usually, and he really wishes he had one now to help him along with his fantasy. He pushes another digit in and hisses at the way it burns ever so slightly. It’s been a while since he fingered himself. Aside from Mordred, the only thing he’s been able to do lately is have a quick wank in the shower, worried that Arthur could walk in on him in his room at any moment. Home is different, though; it’s a cocoon of safety from the outside world. There are so many memories of his childhood and teen years here too, and it’s even easier to imagine a relationship with Arthur that never actually happened.

He crooks his fingers up in search of his prostate, jerking involuntarily as his fingers brush just the right spot. There it is. Merlin is thankful for his long fingers that have enabled him to reach it. He plunges them in and out in conjunction with the hand on his cock, imagining. If Arthur were here, his soft, full, beautiful mouth would be wrapped around Merlin’s dick, slipping up and down it’s length until the head was bumping at the back of his throat, making him gag. Or maybe it would be the other way around. Merlin loves surprising guys with how easily he can deepthroat them. Magic is great for getting rid of your gag reflex.

Merlin starts to thrust up into his fist the same way he would fuck into Arthur’s mouth, his pace slow and steady. Easy, like. Arthur’s mouth is warm, wet and slick, enveloping him. He feels his skin prickle with magic and suddenly the memory is so real it feels as if he honest-to-god _does_ have a mouth around his cock instead of a fist. Merlin fucking loves his magic when it does things like this, enacting his desires of its own accord. He can feel his orgasm building.

“Oh God, oh God,” he pants, his breath catching in his throat as his magic curls like a tongue around the head of his cock.

His hand is pumping along his length in frantic jerky movements–he’s so close. So close...

Suddenly, just as Merlin is on the brink of completion, Arthur himself strides straight through the closed bedroom door.

“Ah, Merlin. I finally found you! Look, I wanted to talk about yesterday. It got out of hand, and I won’t do...” Arthur falters in mid sentence and swallows as he takes in the whole picture. “Merlin…” he asks cautiously. “Are you…?”

“Oh my god, Arthur!” Merlin yells in shock, his hand still gripping his rigid cock. “I'm in my own room! Is it too much to ask for even a moment of privacy with you? Get the fuck out!”

Arthur startles at Merlin’s yells, wondering why the hell he’s so upset. He’s been looking for Merlin for ages, determined to make up after their fight. It had taken him a while, but when he was unable to find Merlin in any of his usual haunts, something had told him to come and see if Merlin was off licking his wounds with Hunith.

Now, however, he’s wondering if he might have made a mistake. First he looks over at the door, and then back at a disheveled Merlin, whose eyes are blown wide and his dark mop of hair a mess on the pillow. His face is flushed red, not just from anger or embarrassment, but from something else. As Arthur stares at him, Merlin quietens and their eyes lock. Merlin looks as though he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Then Arthur notices where Merlin’s hands are beneath the duvet.

_Oh._

He should look away. He shouldn’t stare. It’s rude. But Merlin obviously has a hand on his cock, and Arthur can’t tear his eyes away. So he carries on staring.

“Who were you thinking about?” he finds himself asking. And then, because he hasn’t really stepped in it enough, he adds, “Was it me?”

“Oh my god! You pompous, arrogant, self absorbed arsehole!” exclaims Merlin, with as much dignity as can be expected given the current situation. “Even being dead hasn't stopped you from making everything I do all about you.”

Arthur grins knowingly at him and leers. “Is that a yes, then?” He knows from the absolutely burning shade of Merlin’s ears that it is. _Merlin_ had been thinking about him! Arthur feels his cock hardening in his trousers at the thought. And it’s wrong. So wrong. This is _Merlin_. Arthur had put all thoughts of Merlin out of his head years ago, squashed them deep, deep down, never to be examined again. He’d done a good job too, suppressing all those feelings. He would have thought he’d have moved on by now. He should have, shouldn’t he? It’s been so long since he let himself openly have those kinds of thoughts, even if he did sometimes have _dreams_ about Merlin.

Merlin makes a growling noise and reaches out a hand, grabbing a soft toy that’s sitting on the nightstand to throw at Arthur. It sails straight through him and hits the bedroom door with a soft thud.

Arthur turns his head and looks at it, pausing for a second when he realises where it’s from. “Oh my god, is that the teddy I won you at the Ealdor fair? You kept it, all this time?”

Merlin groans and covers his eyes with his arm, as though he can’t bear to look at Arthur anymore. “Arthur, please. Just… just go.”

Arthur stares at him, his gaze traveling down to where the duvet is still tenting obscenely. “Merlin,” he says softly. “Did you ever wonder what would have happened if we'd… back when I was…”

Arthur’s mind flits back in time, recalling that golden summer when they were in limbo between school and sixth form college. There had been so many nights when the tension between the two of them had been almost unbearable. So many times when Merlin had turned his wide, blue eyes on him and Arthur had almost dared to kiss him. But he’d been confused about what it would mean if he did, so he’d always pulled back from the brink of no return. He could recall one night in particular with perfect detail: that evening in Barcelona when they’d sat together by the driftwood fire they’d built in the woods near the beach. The cool sea breeze had drifted in from the sea, taking with it the heat of the day. It had been peaceful, the stillness of the night broken only by the crackle of the fire in front of them.

Arthur had caught Merlin staring at him again, and the tension between them had been palpable. And Arthur had been pierced with a jolt of want. Within moments, they had found themselves inching closer and closer, until eventually their faces had been so close he could feel Merlin’s breath hot against his cheek in the fading summer light. They had been so close to kissing then. So close to exploring all those confusing feeling he’d been having all summer. And then Javier, the local boy they’d made friends with, had come crashing through the woods to find them, and they had jumped apart in shock.

That hadn’t stopped them, though. Not really. They’d gotten drunk and smoked some weed and then returned to the villa Hunith had rented late at night, giggling and not entirely sober. It was the only way Arthur had been able to get over that hurdle, that feeling like what they were doing was somehow _wrong_ , and if other people knew he’d be pointed at and called a homo. Merlin had tripped over the coat stand, sending it flying and they’d both collapsed in a heap of laughter before untangling themselves and climbing the tall, narrow staircase up to their bedroom. Arthur had watched the way Merlin’s arse had flexed and moved under his shorts as he followed him.

When they had finally made it into the bedroom, Merlin had collapsed dramatically on the bed. Arthur remembers snorting with laughter as he dropped down on top of Merlin, too relaxed to want to move. 

“Get off of me, you heavy lump.”

Arthur had propped himself up on his elbows and then there they were again, staring blue-on-blue, and so close that they were breathing each other’s breath. Arthur had been spurred on by the headiness of the night, tilting his head that teeniest bit more and then they were there. His lips, pressed against Merlin’s, so soft and warm and inviting. Merlin had made a surprised noise, his eyes comically large at the shock of it, though it really shouldn’t have been unexpected given the looks they had been sharing all summer. Arthur wishes that he knew then what he knows now about the world. What they’d done that night wasn’t wrong or shameful, and if he could do it all over again Arthur would like to think that he’d choose this. Him and Merlin, together. It had been silly of him to fight it.

Once Merlin had got over his shock, the kissing had rapidly grown heated. Lips wrestling with lips and tongues slip-sliding against each other, Arthur had groaned into Merlin’s mouth and swallowed up his eager whimpers and whines. Merlin had slid his hands underneath the hem of Arthur’s t-shirt, digging his nails into Arthur’s flesh. Eventually, Merlin had urged the shirt off and over Arthur’s head, instantly returning to kissing as he slid his hand around Arthur’s waist, and Arthur had been left sitting in Merlin’s lap. He used the height change to his advantage, tilting up Merlin’s chin to nip at his lips and lick into his mouth to control the kiss. Merlin’s shirt and shorts had come off next, and Arthur had pushed him back onto the bed, pinning Merlin down with a hand to his chest as he had looked his fill. Merlin’s thin physique had been quite deceiving. He had always been lean, yes. But lithe too. It wasn’t like he’d been completely without any muscle mass.

The current situation is not quite the same, but Arthur can’t help but take advantage of Merlin’s predicament to catalogue all those little changes that have crept in slowly over the years. The chest hair, of which he’d seen the beginnings of back then, now covers Merlin’s well-defined chest. He’s filled out a _lot_ , yet still seems slender and lean in his clothes. Has he been working out? When? Merlin can grow a decent beard now too, and there is a delicious dusting of stubble on his chin from where he’s failed to shave these past few days. Arthur wonders what it would feel like under his tongue, his lips, turning his face blotchy and red where it rubs against his skin. Undeniable proof that he’d been snogging another man. He wonders if Merlin’s cock is still the same, long and full, though not as thick as his own. He gets the sudden urge to push the covers aside so he can see, but he can’t move, not yet, lest he break this precious moment. His gaze flicks up to Merlin’s face. His eyes are wide and fearful, and Arthur’s gut lurches. God. This feels like such a pivotal moment, and Arthur wonders whether they will actually talk about it now that they’re adults or if they will act like they did about Barcelona, and never mention it again. Arthur had scrunched up his feelings and put them away in a box in the dark recesses of his mind, chalking it up to being a horny teenage boy and teenage experimentation, but this...he’s not sure he can ignore this.

“What if we’d actually… you know… ended up together?”

Merlin is looking up at him with such pain in his eyes. “Arthur, please don't do this,” he begs. “Not now, after all these years. You're dead, and well,” his voice is choked with emotion as he refers to the very thing that’s at the back of Arthur’s mind, ”it never would have worked out would it? Can we just… can we just drop it and pretend like none of this ever happened?”

“Is that what you think? You think that because I'm dead we can't talk about what might have been?”

Merlin frowns at him. “I think if you'd really wanted to talk about this,” he waves his hand between them, “then you should have done something sooner. For god's sake, Arthur. You're engaged to Gwen! I don't even know why we're having this conversation.”

“I was,” Arthur corrects him. “I _was_ engaged to Gwen. Like you said, I'm dead now. I'd say that leaves the engagement null and void.” 

It’s true. Arthur has been thinking a lot about this of late, ever since Merlin had pointed out how much Gwen didn’t know about him. He wonders why Merlin had never pointed out their incompatibilities before. Whilst he might banter with Merlin and act like he doesn’t care, Arthur actually values Merlin’s opinion above all others. It would have been easy for him to push Arthur and Gwen apart, and yet, he never had. In fact, Merlin had bent over backwards to be supportive of their relationship, always reminding Arthur of things like Gwen’s birthday and the anniversary of the day they had their first date. He’d even suggested and then planned most of Arthur’s proposal for him, making it as special and romantic as any woman could want. It had certainly swept Gwen off her feet. She had loved telling all her friends how romantic her fiancé was, when in truth Arthur wasn’t really the romantic sort at all. Well, not in the traditional sense. He got more romance out of the everyday things, the domestic stuff you do to support your significant other, and it could be hard for him to express himself. Even with Merlin, though Merlin really did make him want to be a better man. He scowls. “And so what that I'm a ghost? Does that mean I'm not supposed to have thoughts or feelings? Or… certain needs?”

“Jesus Christ,” groans Merlin, flopping back into his pillows dramatically. “I'd say you're supposed to be dead,” he deadpans. “Besides, I don't need a pity-fuck from a ghost.”

Arthur scowls and sits down on the bed beside him. Merlin's eyes widen as it bows beneath his weight. 

“Arthur…” he says cautiously, pushing himself up to sitting again. “The bed. Did it just...?”

Arthur places his hand on the mattress and watches it shift under his touch. “Yes,” he says and lets out a nervous laugh. “It moved. And I can feel it. I can actually feel it. It feels soft.”

Arthur reaches out his hand and touches Merlin. And he can feel him, too. The way his skin is both soft and warm, spread taut over fine bone. His fingers trace that small scar Merlin has on the back of his hand, the one he got climbing over a fence when they were fourteen. He can feel Merlin’s pulse beating away, thrumming with life, and Merlin's breath hitches. 

“Arthur, I can feel you. You're cold.”

They stare down at their hands, and Arthur thinks he might cry. Oh, how he's missed this. How he's missed touching. Being able to _feel_ things. All this time, he’s been suppressing the very emotions that would allow him to connect with his best friend again. And all this time, Merlin has been waiting for him to make that connection and realise that he had wanted him. Arthur has been an oblivious idiot.

But if this isn't what Merlin wants, Arthur can't force it on him, even if he can feel all those exciting but scary thoughts and feelings come rushing back full force. He pushes them back into the box again, the same way he had when he was younger and didn't want to think about the implications of liking blokes AND girls, and then he stands up.

“I should go and let you…” He waves his hand towards Merlin’s lap and glances away, his face flushing. 

“Arthur.” Merlin reaches out for him again, grasping Arthur’s hand. “Don’t.”

“Don’t wh—” 

“Don’t close yourself away from me. Not again. Please.”

“I’m not,” Arthur insists.

Merlin tilts his head and makes a disbelieving face at him. 

“You are. I know you, and you are. Sit. Please.” 

Merlin gestures to the spot he’s just vacated and Arthur sinks into it, putting his head in his hands. He feels Merlin shift and rub his hand soothingly up and down his back. It’s exactly what Arthur needs to ground him. But then again, Merlin’s always been good a knowing what Arthur wanted, even before he knew he wanted it himself. He rubs his face and then sits more upright, and Merlin’s face is right there next to him.

“Better?”

Arthur nods and swallows around the awkward lump in his throat. He’s so shit at dealing with emotions. It’s Merlin who boldly makes the first move. 

“You were right. It was you I was thinking about. I’ve fancied you—been in _love_ with you—for years. Even before we fucked.”

Arthur winces to hear Merlin describe it that way. “No, we didn’t _fuck_ , Merlin. You know it meant more to me than that.”

“Did it? You didn’t exactly give me that impression. When we got back from holiday, you avoided me until we started sixth form, then you proceeded to ignore me there too. It was only after you saw me getting beaten up by Valiant that you started talking to me again.”

Arthur remembers that—it had been the toughest six months of his life. He’d been so terrified of talking about what happened and actually having to deal with his feelings that it had been easier to avoid Merlin all together, what with new mates on his courses and trying out for the footie and basketball after lessons. And he’d missed Merlin so much, it had felt like he had amputated a limb. There were so many occasions where he went to say something to Merlin, only to realise that he wasn’t there. And that it was his own selfish fault that he wasn’t.

“I never meant for it to last that long. But I couldn’t talk about it. I couldn’t let myself think about how much I enjoyed it. Because then what would that mean? I thought I liked girls. But then… what we did. It felt so good.”

“That just means that you’re bi. There’s nothing wrong with that. I thought you were repulsed by it and that you hated me. Then I came to think you just weren’t into guys and regretted it.”

Arthur looks at Merlin in shock and places a hand over his. “Merlin… I could never regret what we did. I could never regret loving my best friend, even though I chose to deny it. And I never knew, never even realised after all these years that you still loved me. I thought—I’d hoped that you would find happiness with someone else.”

Merlin chokes out a laugh. “You’re such a clotpole, Arthur. As if there could be anyone else. You’ve been my _life_ since the moment I saw you. I couldn’t help it. I tried not to love you, for so, so long. And then we slept together, and I thought that maybe we would make it work. But then—well, you know. But I still loved you, even then. No one else ever had a chance with me. When I found that I couldn’t change how I felt, that there was no off switch, I learned to live with it. And I found that when you were happy, it made me happy. So I did what I could to make you happy.”

Merlin shakes his head, and Arthur can’t speak, his breath catching in his chest and his eyes growing wet with tears. Oh, _Merlin_. How had he missed such turmoil rolling beneath the surface of their relationship for all these years?

“I’m so sorry. I’ve been the worst friend.”

“Oh,” says Merlin grinned wryly, “I wouldn’t say the _worst_ friend, but you definitely have your moments.”

They sit there, with Merlin’s hand still resting on Arthur’s, for a long time. He looks down at their overlapping fingers and feels his gut churning with a strange kind of fear and excitement as he takes in how long and strong they are. And then he’s hit with a jolt of lust as he realises, _this is the hand that was on Merlin’s cock just seconds ago_. His own cock jerks and starts to fill at the thought that he’s basically touching Merlin’s cock by proxy. He licks his lips and looks up at Merlin, who is watching him with apprehension. His expression slowly shifts to surprise as he takes in Arthur’s expression.

Arthur shifts a bit closer, wondering how far this newfound ability to touch will extend. He hopes to God it _at least_ goes as far as his lips! Merlin is waiting for him, and Arthur supposed that makes sense, given what he’s just said. He doesn’t want to put himself out there, only to get pushed away by Arthur again. But this time, Arthur doesn’t want to push him away; he doesn’t want to fight this inevitable force that seems to be pulling them together over and over again. So he embraces it and lets it flow over him, filling his heart and soul, making him smile with how _right_ it feels.

Merlin smiles with him, and Arthur moves closer still. He can feel the heat from Merlin’s mouth as he exhales against Arthur’s face, can hear the way his breath catches. It’s as though time has suddenly frozen the world and all that’s left is them. At last, Arthur bridges that final gap between them, and Merlin’s lips are scorching hot and dry against his, his mouth opening to Arthur, sucking his tongue into his warm, wet orifice. Arthur groans at the feeling. He remembers this, remembers the warmth and the heat and the battle to see who’ll be left in charge. Inevitably, despite all his protests over the years, it’s Merlin. It’s always Merlin, and it always will be. Arthur holds Merlin’s face in his hands, and Merlin shudders and trembles at his touch.

When he pulls out of their kiss, he rests his forehead against Arthur’s and looks up at him with blazing eyes. “Arthur,” he whispers.

Arthur takes in the sight of him, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide and molten, and he can’t contain a gasp. Can’t understand what this newfound ability might mean, but is also not sure he cares. “Merlin,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs over the protruding cheekbones. “Merlin, what’s happening? Why—Why can we—?”

“Magic,” breathes Merlin. “Wanted to tell you. _Tried_ to tell you. It’s real, Arthur. It’s always been real.”

Arthur can feel his forehead crease as he struggles to understand; he’s so lost in the feeling of being with Merlin that he can’t think. And yet, it makes sense, in some weird way. His mind provides a slideshow of helpful memories, things that he’s seen that he could never quite explain. With a sister who had been committed to a mental institution for speaking her truths, he’d learned never to breathe a word of what he might have experienced to anyone else. Instead, his brain had denied any of it had even happened in the first place. Weird things, like objects he could have sworn were floating, until they were suddenly spinning or falling as though they had been dropped. The moment that had stretched for an inordinate length of time, when Merlin had saved him from being hit by a car, before the world had come crashing back in around them. It had been easy to push such strange occurrences away, putting them in a box next to his unexplainable feelings for Merlin. And now they are all here, out in the open. Truths laid bare.

He pushes Merlin onto his back and straddles him, the look of shock on Merlin’s face making him laugh and bend his head for a kiss. “Don’t care. Makes sense. Believe you,” he mutters against Merlin’s lips. At that moment, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Except for this. _Arthur and Merlin_ , here together at last. He bites at Merlin’s lip until Merlin’s mouth falls open in a gasp, and Arthur sits back, reaching out and marveling at how he’s able to grip the sheets. “You’re doing this,” he says. “I can feel because of you.” 

He starts to peel back the covers, but Merlin yelps and tries to yank them back up. “What on earth do you think you’re—”

Arthur silences him with a look, pausing for a moment to take in Merlin’s smooth, broad chest, dusted with hair. He runs his hands up and down the toned planes of Merlin’s stomach, admiring how firm he is and the way the muscles there all jump at his touch. He tries to think back to the last time he saw Merlin without his shirt on, and finds that he can’t really remember seeing him sans clothes again after Barcelona. Merlin had always skipped out on any sports events or trips to the beach, even though he loved swimming, feigning being shit at sports or having some other kind of pre-arranged appointment which meant he’d have to miss it, and why didn’t Arthur take Gwen instead? Gwen had not wanted to go very often either, and had told Arthur so, but he’d already known she wasn’t really the sporty type when he proposed to her. He didn’t need his partner to be sporty, just to be supportive of his hobbies and his love of Arsenal. Which Gwen was, to a point, although his favourite mug had been relegated to Merlin’s flat once he and Gwen had officially moved in together, abandoned in favour of matching mugs, plates and cutlery so that it looked like a proper home for grown ups, rather than the shared bachelors pad he’d come from.

All of which begs the question, however: if Merlin hadn’t been doing sports, how _had_ he gotten so _fit_? He places a kiss to Merlin’s stomach. “Is this magic, too?” he asks.

Merlin breathes in sharply at his touch. “No, I—I went to the gym. W-worked out.”

Arthur continues to kiss and bite playfully at Merlin’s belly, brushing fingers through a trail of soft hair that disappears beneath the sheets. "I didn’t see you.”

“Mu—Made sure to go to a different one t-to you!” Merlin gasps, his head tipping back and exposing his neck. “I—I needed to do s-something, and working out felt good. Was good to focus on something else. Clear my head.” 

Arthur glances up at him from his kisses on Merlin’s chest. “What was in your head?”

Merlin huffs and looks down at him. “No way. I’m not feeding your ego.”

Arthur grins delightedly as he pulls himself up and settles on Merlin’s lap, ready to kiss him again. “It’s all right. You can say you were thinking of me.”

Merlin rolls his eyes at the ridiculously prattish—and _fucking sexy_ —way Arthur is smirking at him. He hates the way he can’t seem to help responding to it, and when Arthur’s eyes widen, his expression faltering a little, Merlin knows that Arthur felt his cock twitch where it is pressed right up against Arthur’s arse. Arthur shuffles backwards on his knees and all but rips the covers from Merlin’s legs, his eyes roaming over Merlin’s newly exposed nudity. Merlin wants to hide from his gaze, fearful that he will be found wanting, scared this is all a dream. Because it can’t be real, can it? After all these years of unrequited love, having to listen to Arthur demonstrate repeatedly that he did not feel that way, even if his actions often told another story—it seems impossible for Arthur to finally want him now.

He waits anxiously, his heart tapping out a staccato beat as he waits for Arthur to say something, embarrassed at the way his cock gives another jerk and gets harder still as Arthur watches him. It had been all those long contemplative stares, the glances at Merlin’s mouth before looking into his eyes, the way he just wouldn’t let Merlin go and always kept him close, that had made it impossible to get over him.

“Shit,” says Arthur, under his breath. “You are so... well, beautiful, I suppose.”

“You suppose!” exclaims Merlin, raising his head from the pillow.

“Shush. I’m trying not to treat you like a girl, Merlin. Because I can clearly see that you are not.” His eyes flick down to Merlin’s cock, and Merlin tries not to squirm as Arthur runs a hand down his side. It’s like being plunged into an arctic pool, and yet it still feels insanely good to have Arthur’s hands on him like this, so caring and tender. A shiver tingles down his spine as Arthur’s ice-cold touch ventures near his dick. He’s so close, and Merlin is desperate for him to touch him, to take him in hand. But Arthur is toying with him like a hunter with his prey, avoiding the one thing Merlin wants the most.

When he can’t bear it a moment longer, Merlin reaches down and grasps his cock, and his body sings with relief. Arthur fixes him with a smoldering stare and dips his head to give the head of Merlin’s cock a single lick. Merlin rolls his hips up towards Arthur’s mouth and Arthur meets him head on, taking the tip into his mouth and gives it a firm suck that has Merlin flailing and tossing his head. His breath catches in his throat, because it’s not a familiar wet heat that encloses him. Instead, a frigid chill engulfs him, setting off all sorts of unexpected pleasure in his body as the two extremes of temperature meet.

“Oh, Arthur!” he cries. “Oh, that’s—” Arthur presses his tongue along the underside of his cock, slowly replacing Merlin’s hand with his mouth. “ _Fuck!_ ”

Merlin can’t breathe from the sudden change, and he desperately, helplessly claws at the sheets as Arthur hums against him, making him want to scream. He screws his eyes shut and takes several deep, gulping breaths of air as though he’s trying to breathe after drowning, and finally anchors his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, sliding and scrabbling still when Arthur sucks and licks, Arthur’s suit jacket slipping with him until Arthur shrugs it off and pulls off of Merlin.

“Oh god, that is... That’s something else,” Merlin gasps. He looks up at Arthur and notes from the way his pupils are dilated that he’s not completely unaffected. Far from it, in fact, if the tent in his pristine trousers is any indication. He looks like a debauched angel; blond hair, dark blue eyes, all clothed in white. It makes it even better. Merlin reaches out to touch his face, needing to be sure that this is actually real. It doesn’t feel like the dreams he’s had with Arthur before. They’ve always had a surreal edge to them, where something weird happens and things get fluffy around the edges, and whenever Merlin tried to do something, his dream Arthur would just fade away.

But he can feel this Arthur, feel the slight scratch of stubble on his cheeks and the smoothness of his skin, and he is struck with the overwhelming urge to just _kiss him_ again. It suddenly hits him that he can, and he sits himself up to peck at Arthur’s lips, then wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him down so that he’s lying flat all the way against him. He grins at Arthur, who grins back.

“I never thought I could have this, you know,” says Merlin wistfully. “I thought the moment we shared was gone. That I’d lost you, if I had even had you in the first place.”

“I wish you’d said something then,” says Arthur with a smile that falters as he speaks.

“Like what? We barely spoke for six months, Arthur. Whenever I tried, you figured out some kind of way to escape. Do you know what that did to me? I might not have been able to have you like this, but I knew then I’d always do whatever it took to have you as my friend.”

Merlin watches the way Arthur’s face falls and his throat bobs as he swallows. “I’m sorry. For everything. For pushing you away and looking the other way when you tried to reach out. I was wrong. I feel like..." Arthur forehead creases as he’s thinking, and Merlin reaches up with fingers to smooth it away. “I feel like we were meant to be and the more I fought it, the more I felt for you. But it scared me, so I hid from it. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

Arthur moves to kiss him again, but Merlin grabs him by the arm as he’s struck by a sudden thought. Trust his own brain to cock-block him. “What about Gwen?” he asks.

“ _Gwen_? Merlin, do you honestly think I’m thinking about _Gwen_ when I’m pressed up against you like _this_?”

Merlin tries to push Arthur off of him so that he can escape, but Arthur’s bigger than him and he refuses to budge. “Arthur,” Merlin gripes as he shoves at him. “She’s your fiancée, surely that has to count for something. You were about to be married.”

“We were,” corrects Arthur for the second time. “We _were_ about to be married. But things changed. I died. And she can’t see me—”

Merlin _does_ dump Arthur off him unceremoniously at that, feeling around for his underwear in the bed. “Oh, I see now. That’s how it is, huh? ‘Gwen can’t see me now, so I guess I’ll make do with Merlin!’ To think, I thought I was actually coming first in your life in something, finally.” He angrily shoves his legs into his boxers and instantly feels a bit less vulnerable. But the fight has left him as quickly as it arrived, and he slumps down onto the mattress again. “I think you should go,” he says, burying his face in his hands.

When the room is completely silent and he thinks that he is finally alone, Merlin rubs his face and sighs. As he takes his hands away and his eyes come back into focus, however, he spies Arthur still sitting there on his bed.

“Feeling better now?” Arthur asks.

Merlin shrugs his shoulders and looks away from him.

“I’m tired, Arthur. So tired of coming second with you. I don’t think I can do it anymore. I deserve better. I deserve more. If you want, we can just go back to being friends. And—and I’ll still help you to solve your murder, so that you can pass through the veil.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” says Arthur warningly. “Kiss me again.”

Merlin looks at him with disbelief, but as he takes in the look of apprehension and tender hope on Arthur’s face, he feels his resolve crumble. Meeting Arthur’s gaze with what he hopes is a fearless look, he moves into Arthur’s lap. Arthur runs a cold, soothing hand along his back, and Merlin eyes Arthur’s lips, drawn to them hopelessly like iron to a magnet. They’re both hesitant now, slow, not sure exactly how to pick things up where they’d left off, and then their lips meet, and Merlin’s doubts melt away as Arthur’s tongue meets his. 

Their kisses are gentle at first, as though they’re feeling the situation out, making sure that it is safe, before the whole world seems to cease to be around them. Merlin’s cock starts to fill and harden again, throbbing between their bodies, and then Merlin is pushing Arthur back into the bed, his hands working to pull off his belt as he chases Arthur’s lips.

“Need to see you,” he mutters, huffing with frustration as the buckle refuses to give. Arthur’s hands come down to help him, and he grins at Merlin’s desperation. Belt off and trousers undone, Merlin crawls back to yank them off, revealing Arthur’s strong, powerful thighs and then his calves. He runs a hand along them lovingly, worshipping them, looking at Arthur with awed eyes. He can’t believe they’re doing this—that he gets to have this second chance. 

Licking his lips at the way Arthur’s cock is outlined in his briefs, leaving little to the imagination, Merlin presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Arthur’s calf before crawling back up the bed to straddle him again. The initial chill of Arthur’s ghostly form makes him shiver, but he deliberately sits and wriggles atop Arthur’s erection as he lets his brain adapt to the temperature change. Arthur gasps and grips Merlin’s sides, pulling his arse harder against his clothed cock, and Merlin undoes his shirt with fumbling fingers, trembling with excitement and disbelief. He pushes Arthur’s shirt off with Arthur’s help and then stares down at him, his chest heaving as he lets his fingers wander, tracing patterns on Arthur’s cool, smooth skin. He scratches a hand over a nipple, and Arthur hisses as he arches with pleasure. Interesting. Arthur must be sensitive there. Merlin bends to take a nipple in his mouth, tonguing at it and then scraping it with his teeth. Arthur’s fingers dig sharply into his hips, and Merlin loves the fact that he’s going to leave bruises. Even if this is a one off, and he’ll have it all snatched away from him tomorrow, he will still have a physical reminder to prove that it happened. He sucks on Arthur’s nipple, scraping blunt fingernails over the other one, and Arthur makes an incoherent noise. With one last nip Merlin finally pulls away, Arthur’s cock now pressing insistently against the crack of his arse.

Merlin shuffles back again so that he can slip his fingers inside the waistband of Arthur’s underwear. Grasping it in his hands, he slowly inches the boxers down, revealing inch after inch of gorgeous, perfect cock that has his mouth watering in anticipation. Finally, Arthur’s cock springs free and Merlin watches eagerly as it bobs before his eyes. He licks his lips, gives Arthur a determined look, and gets to work straight away, pausing only to give a quick lick to the head before he wraps his lips around it and takes Arthur straight down into his throat. Merlin _loves_ to give blow jobs; it’s actually one of his favourite things in the world, not that he’s usually got a partner for very long to give them to. And even then, they’re never _Arthur_. Sometimes, he’s been desperate enough to go out clubbing and has given a few anonymous blow jobs to strangers he’s met. Of late, that had become a bit more frequent than he would have liked. But with Arthur’s impending wedding to Gwen, he had needed it so badly. Losing himself in the moment had helped him to forget. He had only wished that he’d had a partner for real, so that on the days he’d been particularly upset, he could blow them for as long as he liked. It had crossed his mind to have a friends-with-benefits deal with someone, but he couldn’t imagine that ever ending well. Too often feelings ended up getting involved, and then where would he have been?

He closes his eyes, enjoying the way Arthur’s cock fills his mouth and stretches his lips. It’s been ages since he’s been able to take his time like this, He and Mordred hadn’t had the patience for niceties, and it’s not like he would have been able to enjoy it with the state he’d been in. This time, he can take as long as he likes. Or as long as it takes for Arthur to beg him to stop. His lips curve in a sort of smirk before he returns his attention to Arthur’s beautiful cock, taking him so deep that he pushes down the back of Merlin’s throat and Merlin’s nose is buried in the golden curls of his groin. Merlin inhales, moaning around his mouthful. He is in heaven, has to be, there’s no other way around it. He and Arthur are both dead and this is what heaven is like.

Arthur groans with him, long and loud. He pushes up further into Merlin’s mouth, filling his throat with his length, and Merlin feels dizzy from it. As Merlin’s throat begins to yield, Arthur starts to hump up into his mouth, his cock throbbing against his Merlin’s tongue. No, no, not yet. Merlin pulls off and starts to lick Arthur’s length. It’s warm now from all the attention that Merlin has lavished on it. He sinks his lips over the head one last time to give it a hard suck.

“Merlin. Merlin, please, I won’t—” Arthur pants, gulping as though he’s trying to breathe. That really shouldn’t be an issue for someone who is already dead, though given Arthur is a ghost that Merlin can blow, he’s not even sure where that line between a ghost and human lies.

He pulls off with a pop. “Do you want to— and how do you want to… you know, do it?” he asks with fake coyness, looking up at Arthur through his eyelashes. Arthur groans and lets his head fall back.

“You’re asking me, when you can do stuff like that? How? When? We didn’t do that when—“

“It’s been a long time since Barcelona, Arthur. I’ve learned a few things since then. At the time, I’d only just realised I was gay. But I’ve come to love a really nice cock.”

He grins and places a cheeky kiss to the tip of Arthur’s.

Arthur blushes. “So are we going to...I mean, last time we—”

“You topping is fine. I’m happy to bottom. _Very _happy to. Though I wouldn’t say no to fucking your peachy arse, either.”__

__Arthur lifts his head and looks at him indignantly. “My peachy arse!”_ _

__Merlin hums and fondles Arthur’s arse with a grin. “Yep. I’ve been eyeing your arse since forever, pretty much every chance I could get. You have to have noticed. It nearly killed me to look, but not touch.”_ _

__Merlin motions for Arthur to roll over, and he complies without a fight, letting Merlin take great delight in examining his arse up close._ _

__“Yes,” he murmurs, and then he nips gently at a cheek. “This is a perfect specimen.”_ _

__Arthur chuckles. “Why thank you, Merlin. My arse is rather nice to look at—” he begins, and then chokes as Merlin pushes apart his cheeks and licks between them._ _

__“Changed my mind,” whispers Merlin. “I want to fuck you.” He can see the way Arthur’s back tenses as he registers what Merlin’s said and backpedals. “Or not. We don’t—we don’t have to. We don’t have to do anything. Or—or we can do something else.”_ _

__“Merlin!” says Arthur, exasperated as he glances over his shoulder. “I didn’t say no. I’ve just—I’ve never... All of _this_ is still very new. The only time I ever... was with you.” _ _

__Merlin smiles at him, and Arthur returns it softly, lovingly. “I will take care of you, Arthur.”_ _

__“I know,” Arthur says, and turns to face forward again, resting his head on folded arms._ _

__Placing a kiss at the base of Arthur’s spine, Merlin shifts, painfully aware of the effect Arthur and the friction of his movement is having on his cock. He runs his tongue over one of Arthur’s buttocks and then settles himself between them once more, licking at the tight furl hidden between them as he prepares to devote himself to the worship of Arthur’s delectable arse._ _

__He flicks his tongue against Arthur’s hole, drawing a sharp gasp and a slow moan from Arthur as he traces the rim and then stabs his tongue insistently into him. Idly, he wonders if the chill from Arthur’s skin will make his tongue stick there like it would if he were licking a street lamp in winter, and he smiles, amused at the thought of trying to explain his way out of that._ _

__“ _Merlin_ ,” intones Arthur, his voice a deep rumble, and Merlin returns his attention to what he’s doing. He pushes his tongue a little deeper this time, wiggling it around and enjoying the choked off sounds and laboured breathing that reach in his ears in response. He slips in a fingertip alongside his tongue, and Arthur sighs out an ‘Oh!’ of pleasure. Then, with careful, deliberate motions, Merlin slowly coaxes Arthur open, pausing whenever he clenches and gentling him with a reassuring hand on his spine. He finds, as he licks and probes, that the skin beneath his tongue is beginning to warm, and it stays that way when eventually he pulls away, his face wet and sticky, finger still inside Arthur’s arse. He whispers a very familiar spell, one that he’d learned in his early teens and he’s not sure how he’d ever live without, and instantly the inside of Arthur turns slick and wet for him._ _

__He grips Arthur by the hip, rubbing at him, and then reaches over him to grab a spare pillow. “Here, let’s just…” Arthur lifts his hips in an unexpected show of trust, and Merlin slips it under his pelvis. “That’s good. Okay. Now I’m going to… I mean, if you’re ready…”_ _

__“Merlin, come on,” Arthur commands, his voice rough. “Do it!”_ _

__Taking that for permission, Merlin raises himself on his knees, moving forward a little before taking his own rock-hard cock in hand and lining it up with Arthur’s hole. Then he presses closer, pushing himself forward and in, the magic slick warming and welcoming him in a whole new way. Looking down, he can see the way Arthur is digging his fingernails into his own arms as his face turns into a grimace._ _

__“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re doing _beautifully_. Just, just... relax a little bit. _Breathe_ ,” Merlin says encouragingly, his own voice strained._ _

__He can see Arthur’s nostrils flare as he appears to take a deep breath in and out, and Merlin is able to slip in another inch. He tries to take it slowly, but Arthur is _so tight_ he has to squeeze his eyes shut and stay still as counts down backwards from 50. He gets as far as 46 when Arthur _clenches_ around him, and he loses all the focus he had to spare. He drapes himself over Arthur’s back and finally gets all the way in, slotting into place._ _

__Merlin nuzzles Arthur’s neck, pressing kisses there. “All right?” he asks. He can feel Arthur’s nod, and as he peppers tiny kisses to the side of Arthur’s neck, he slowly draws his hips back before pushing back in experimentally, to see how Arthur is taking it. He can feel Arthur quivering beneath him, hopefully from excitement rather than fear, and as he shifts his stance, Arthur gasps suddenly and jerks._ _

__“What was that?” he asks, his voice slurring and thick._ _

__Merlin grins against his skin as he gently rocks his cock back and forth into Arthur, repeating the same motion. “Your prostate. Feels good, right?”_ _

__Arthur groans. “You know it does.”_ _

__“Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy hearing you say it. You like my cock in you.” He can feel Arthur clench around him. “Cheeky,” he chastises with mock-seriousness. Then he straightens up, pulling Arthur up to all fours with him as he takes another few careful strokes back and forth._ _

__“Oh, shit. _Fuck_!” exclaims Arthur, as Merlin starts to gain both speed and confidence, turning their lovemaking hard and fast. Merlin’s soul sings at the incoherent sighs and groans that spill from Arthur’s lips. He cherishes them, trying to remember them all to recall later, just as he has catalogued all of Arthur’s expressions and emotions over the years. He’s not seen this before, the way Arthur’s face is contorted with joy, overwhelmed from the sensations and the noises, the _noises_ he’s making. Merlin thinks he might die from them, his hips pistoning, and he whispers endearments and dirty words to Arthur as they fuck._ _

__“Ah—Arthur, I’m… I’m…” Merlin’s balls tighten, lust pooling, molten and hot, in his groin. “I need.” Merlin reaches his hand underneath them, and his fingers close around Arthur’s cock. “ _Yes_ —”_ _

__They both freeze as the sound of a door opening and closing echoes outside the room, breaking the spell. A floorboard creaks. “Merlin?” his mother calls through the door. “Everything all right in there?”_ _

__Oh shit. Of all the times! Merlin cringes mentally as his cock gives a twitch, still sheathed inside his lover. He clears his throat and does his best to sound normal. “Uh, yeah, fine, Mum!” he calls back. _Except for the fact I’ve got my cock in Arthur’s arse.__ _

__“Okay, sweetheart,” she calls back. “There was just a lot of noise, so I thought I’d check. Good night!”_ _

__They both listen intently to her retreating footsteps, and when her bedroom door finally clicks shut, Merlin collapses onto Arthur’s back. They both snigger uncontrollably, partly from nerves and partly from the shock of being caught as though they were teenagers._ _

__“What do we do?” Merlin whispers. “Do we finish?”_ _

__“You damn well better!” hisses Arthur through clenched teeth, pushing back against him so that Merlin’s cock sinks even further into him, despite the fact that they’re already pressed skin-to-skin. It startles a gasp out of Merlin, and then a groan as Arthur grinds against him._ _

__“Okay,” Merlin pants. “Yeah, let’s... let’s keep going.”_ _

__He mouths a little at Arthur’s neck as he draws his hips back and then slams them forward again, the small slapping noises sounding so loud now in Merlin’s small childhood room. He starts working Arthur’s cock as he fucks him in earnest. They are both desperate to finish now, albeit as quietly as they can._ _

__Arthur below him is breathing hard, biting back small whimpers that issue from the back of his throat._ _

__“Uh, yes. Yeah, _Arthur_...” Merlin murmurs, screwing up his eyes as he desperately tries to stave off his orgasm, not wanting to come first. He can feel the way that Arthur is starting to tense, making small breathy huffs and whines into the pillow as he tries to keep quiet. It’s too much, too much. With a choked off groan, he comes, collapsing onto Arthur’s back for a second time as he spends himself inside him. Arthur wraps his hands around Merlin’s, and together, with a few more strokes, they finish him, too. Clenching hard around Merlin’s sensitive cock, Arthur buries his face completely in the pillow, letting out a muffled cry. His arms start to shake uncontrollably for a moment before buckling beneath their combined weights._ _

__Merlin rolls off of him, out of breath. He looks over and grins at Arthur, who still looks too dazed and sex-sated to have any kind of proper conversation._ _

__Merlin is still a bit dazed and breathless himself. And tired. It’s been a rollercoaster of a day, but it ended in the best way possible, and as he takes in the pale, golden-blond hair and the handsome, noble profile next to him, his heart hurts with how much happiness he feels._ _

__Merlin waits as long as he can, but patience was never one of his virtues._ _

__“Good?” he asks finally._ _

__Arthur hums happily. “Good.”_ _

__Arthur turns onto his side and slides his arms around Merlin so that the two of them are face to face. Merlin freezes, unsure what he should do next. They had never cuddled after they’d had sex the first time, both completely wiped out by the alcohol and still a bit high from the weed. He holds his breath as Arthur presses his forehead against his. It feels pleasantly cool, rather than chilly like before, and Merlin snuggles close, taking advantage of what has been offered to him. He even dares to peck a kiss to the end of Arthur’s glorious aquiline nose and then presses up to Arthur, sliding an arm around his body to allow the complementing iciness to cool him after the heat of their exertions._ _

__“We still need to talk properly, you know?” he points out._ _

__“In the mornin’,” drawls Arthur, half-asleep already. “Just sleep for now.”_ _

__Merlin gives him a nod of agreement and Arthur’s eyes droop and close. As he watches Arthur sleeping peacefully, Merlin is struck with a thought he’d had earlier, when he’d feared that he would always be second best to Gwen in Arthur’s eyes. That sick feeling in his stomach is starting to set in again. Arthur had never actually _said_ that he wasn’t doing this because he couldn’t have her. What if he’s going to be stuck playing second fiddle to Gwen for as long as this—whatever this is—lasts? He lies there in Arthur’s arms, tucking himself underneath his shoulder and laying his head on Arthur’s broad chest. For a moment, he gets excited, thinking that he might be able to hear Arthur’s heartbeat, and wonders what it would mean if he did. But he doesn’t. Arthur’s chest seems to rise and fall, though, as if his body is too used to breathing to stop, or perhaps whatever magic forms this vessel for Arthur’s soul is imitating real life in some kind of cruel mockery to Merlin. He sighs, and slowly, slowly, he starts to feel the tug of sleep himself._ _

__“Tomorrow,” he finally murmurs to himself. Even though he’s nervous about what that will bring._ _


	5. Death Becomes Him

Arthur watches Merlin as he sleeps. His face is calm and carefree. He looks so young. But then, Arthur supposes that he is. Merlin is barely twenty-three to his twenty-four—in a few months, twenty-five. They’re both young. Or in his case, he _was_ young. He keeps forgetting that he’s dead now, and that he’ll never to be able to live a normal life again, all because someone cut his brakes that night at the party. Who would hate him so much that they would want to kill him? He knows that Merlin is trying his best, but everything they’ve looked at so far has been a bust. The files from Blackwater Industries are incriminating, for sure. But they don’t shed any light on why someone would want to off him. He sighs and runs a hand over his face. The meeting with Cenred hadn’t helped them either. It had just upset Merlin. And whilst Arthur usually lives for teasing Merlin, the way that Cenred had been coming onto him seemed to be a sore point. Arthur can’t blame Merlin; Cenred is sleazy to the nth degree. And he doesn’t even want to think about how much of an arse he was when they went to Gwaine’s. He hopes that Merlin has forgiven him for his outburst already. He’d just been so jealous he hadn’t been able to restrain himself. He’ll do better in the future.

Merlin, though...he’s such a conundrum. Arthur had thought he knew him well, being such close friends, but he’s learned so much more about Merlin since his death that he’s starting to reconsider that opinion. He’s still _Merlin_. Stupid, impossible, defiant, and wonderful Merlin. But Arthur understands him more now. Or at least, he thinks he does. 

To begin with, Arthur had honestly thought that Merlin was pulling his leg about the whole magic thing, but he believes him now. He has to. Otherwise, how else would they have been able to touch the way they had? Until last night, Arthur had believed he would never interact with anyone properly ever again. Certainly not in this world. But then there’d been Merlin; Merlin, who he’d been able to touch and be touched by. And, well, they had certainly managed to cover all the bases as to the limits of that ability. If Arthur can exist here as a ghost—actual life after death—then believing in the existence of magic seems like no stretch at all. And now that he knows this to be the case, it certainly explains why Merlin is the only one who can see him. Oh. Wait. That’s not true, is it? Oh, God. _Morgana_. Morgana can see him. And Gaius. And that Mordred bloke had even been able to go so far as shoving him. What does that mean? Is it all magic, too? And if so, why does magic make him visible to them and not to Gwen? Do you have to believe in magic, maybe? Perhaps if you’re a skeptic like Arthur was prior to all this, then your mind is not open enough to do things like see ghosts. Arthur wants to wake Merlin to ask him, but he looks so peaceful, and Arthur can’t bring himself to wake him in an obnoxious manner like he usually does. 

Instead, he thinks about the night before again and what it means for him and Merlin. He had known that he still had feelings for Merlin, deep down, but he hadn’t realised that they were so strong. The first time they’d had sex, he had been afraid that he would prove to be an even bigger disappointment to his father than he already was, if Uther ever found out that he’d slept with a man. In those days, he had still craved Uther’s approval, something that had always been a futile effort but which he had been too young and naive to realise at the time. So he had pushed Merlin away, and in doing so, had almost lost his friendship for good. The only thing that had saved it was when Arthur had found Merlin at college one day, being beaten up by some homophobic arseholes, and had hauled them off and hit them back. He’d ended up with a suspension, and his father had been so angry that he had disrupted his education that he had threatened to send him off to boarding school to get his A-levels. Eventually, he had listened to what Arthur had to say, and though he still hadn’t approved of what he’d done, he had given his son’s hair a rough tussle and muttered something about being _‘just like your mother’_ before leaving Arthur to his own devices.

After that, he and Merlin had gone back to the way they had been before Barcelona, for the most part. Merlin had supported him through his first heartbreak with Vivian, and then when he’d dated Mithian, who had been lovely. But... well. She hadn’t been Merlin. Not long after that, they’d gone to University. Both of them had been accepted to the same place, but given their completely opposite interests, they’d grown apart a bit and developed new circles of friends apart from each other. It had been a good thing, ultimately. And Arthur had met Gwen then. His father had been arranging date after date for him with young, eligible, wealthy women and they’d all been less than compatible with him. After he met Gwen—sweet, adorable, Gwen, who had been so comfortable compared to all those other women—he had put his foot down with his father, causing their last, and worst, row. Uther said he wanted better for his son than a marriage to a woman whose greatest ambition in life was to be a teacher and Arthur had said he wanted better for himself than a spoiled wife who just wanted him for his money, a deliberate dig at his father’s recent divorce from the gold-digging Catrina. Arthur had been so angry, and his father so stubborn. They had always clashed and likely would have continued to do so, if Uther hadn’t decided to cut Arthur off.

That’s how the private detective agency had been born. Arthur had needed money, and so had Merlin. They hadn’t known what they could do together, until they had managed to unravel a mystery that had lead to the arrest and conviction of a violent killer. It had felt good to solve that case, and they’d been good at it. So they had decided to try and make a business out of it. They were both fresh out of uni and looking for work, so why not be their own bosses? It had been a bit of a madcap idea, really, but they had been managing to make it work, with them both taking minimum paychecks—enough to survive on—and plowing the rest into the business’ running costs.

Gwen had taken a teaching job, and since she and Arthur were already living together and had been dating for a while, it had seemed logical to take the next step and propose. It had made sense to Arthur at the time, but now he wonders if it had been a bit soon. He loved Gwen—still does. But it feels like things have somehow... shifted. He can’t explain it. 

He gets up from his chair. He should go and see Gwen. He wants to be sure. Last night Merlin had laid himself bare for Arthur, literally and figuratively. He had been so insecure about Arthur’s relationship with Gwen and his worries about being second best. Arthur wants to put those concerns to rest once and for all. After all, maybe it’s just because he’s no longer able to spend time with her that his feelings seem different. Arthur doubts that that’s the case, but he owes it to Merlin to go and see. He closes his eyes and thinks about Gwen’s apartment. That’s how it’s always worked before, and sure enough, he can feel his stomach flipping over and his body slowly drifting apart, as if he’s being blown away with the wind. When his stomach settles, he opens his eyes and he’s in Gwen’s flat, leaving Merlin safely sleeping in Ealdor.

Merlin groans against the harsh daylight searing its way through his eyelids. Rolling over in bed, he squints through partially opened eyes and realises he’s in his room in Ealdor. The memory of what he’d done last night hits him like an express train, and he bolts upright, his arms reaching out across the bed to find it empty. He searches the room anxiously, his heart gripped like a vice as he tries to find Arthur, but to no avail. His old room is tiny, and there’s no way that Arthur can be hiding there.

He hears sounds of glasses chinking and plates being moved from downstairs; of course, it’s Mum. He makes to get up, pulling a face as he finds the duvet stuck to him due to the mess he’d left when he and Arthur had... Or had they? He can’t help but think that maybe he had dreamt the whole thing. Surely Arthur would never have run off on him if they had slept together, would he?

It had felt so real, though, and Merlin had been so sure about it. But in that case, where is Arthur? Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe he regrets their night together, and it’s going to be like Barcelona all over again.

A knot of dread twists and curls in Merlin’s gut as he fears the worst. He’s not sure he can face that kind of heartache again. Why, oh _why_ had he slept with Arthur? Well, the answer to that question is easy. Because he’s _Arthur_. And yet, Merlin should know better than to inflict this kind of heartbreak on himself. He’s been through it before, after all. 

“MERLIN!” Merlin is startled from his thoughts by his mother calling to him from downstairs. “Breakfast in five minutes!”

He looks down at himself and grimaces. He can’t go down to breakfast like this. He’ll take a super-quick shower, have breakfast with Mum, and then excuse himself to go and find Arthur. Maybe this is like that time back at the office where Arthur got pulled back into the void involuntarily. The first place he’s going to check when he gets back to Camelot is Arthur’s grave. He heaves out a heavy sigh, and then pokes his head out the door to check the coast is clear before slipping into the bathroom. He hopes that Arthur is okay, and that he will find him soon.

Arthur sits down at Gwen’s kitchen table with a wince; a small reminder of the previous night. Morgana is still at the flat, staying with Gwen for another week. Gwen had rushed back home from Elyan’s when Merlin had called to let her know about Morgana turning up at his door. Ever since then, they’ve been working to help her figure out what she wants to do with her life, given Gaius and Merlin had convinced her to stay. Gwen has such a big heart, she had instantly offered Morgana use of the tiny spare bedroom, the one that they had always used as a office, for as long as she needed. Arthur used to run the business from there on the days that he worked from home, and Gwen used it to prepare for her classes. He had overheard Gwen and Morgana discussing future plans the night after he’d come back to Merlin’s and found… Well. Not that that matters anymore. It is a kind gesture on Gwen’s behalf—but knowing Morgana, she will want somewhere bigger to call her own eventually. Especially now that she is finally free of institutions.

Morgana is still sleeping, but Gwen is in the kitchen cooking breakfast. Arthur watches her as she turns on the kettle to boil and tosses the pancake in the pan. She really is lovely. Her gorgeous dark curls, flawless golden-mocha skin, and that smile that could light up any room. He knows he loves her. But is he _in love_ with her? He tries to think back to how it used to feel when they were together, back before the wedding had taken over their lives. Arthur would have married her anywhere, regardless, but the details were important to Gwen, and she had asked him endless questions about things like what colour would be better for the invitations—dove white, or pale ivory?—and whether they should go with a lace border or something more simple. Arthur hadn’t cared. Like their guests would be worried what colour their invitations were. But it had mattered to Gwen, so he’d tried his best to push aside how silly and pointless all these decisions were for a wedding.

Gwen and Merlin had ended up making most of the decisions, and wasn’t that ironic? He can’t get his head around it. Why had Merlin just sat back and _helped_ with his engagement to Gwen and the subsequent marriage arrangements? He’s not sure he would have been big enough to do the same, had their roles been reversed. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from tearing Mordred away from Merlin, after all, and that had only been a one night stand. And that’s not even mentioning his hissy fit over Gwaine. Is that what Merlin had been reduced to? In love with his best friend and unable to let go, so he had a series of meaningless encounters with people who didn’t understand how special he was? It would certainly explain why Arthur hasn’t really met any of Merlin’s boyfriends. Not since—Fuck. Since Barcelona. 

It truly hits him then, that Merlin has been in love with Arthur the whole time. The level of his devotion is staggering.

Arthur turns his eyes towards Gwen, who is pouring more batter into the pan to make another pancake. He and Gwen were in love, weren’t they? Perhaps that’s why Merlin had never stepped in, had never interfered in a negative way in their relationship. They’d been happy. But now, when he thinks about how much things have changed in such a short time, the way all those feelings he had packed away had come spilling out like a landslide, what he felt then seems… in a weird way, less than what it was. Almost like he had been in love with the idea of being in love. Christ. Life shouldn’t be this complicated. No, this is worse. Way worse. DEATH. _Death_ should not be this complicated. He shouldn’t even be here. He shouldn’t exist at all, and now he’s stuck here, perhaps permanently, dealing with an emotional crisis he really should have addressed while he was alive.

At that moment, a man’s head pops up from behind the back of the sofa, and he stretches his arms, yawning noisily. He’s amazingly handsome, with long wavy hair that somehow looks perfect even though he’s just woken up from sleeping on Gwen’s extremely uncomfortable couch (Arthur has experienced it himself in the past when he and Gwen have fought over something ridiculous). His face is pleasant and honest, and he looks around with a tinge of confusion in his eyes until his gaze finally focuses on Gwen. At that point, a delighted smile lights up his face, and as Arthur glances over at Gwen, he notes her smiling back shyly in return.

“I must apologise, Guinevere,” the man says contritely. His face turns earnest and the smile slips away. “I hope that— I mean, I never intended to— it was not my purpose to—”

Gwen beams at him. “Lancelot, it’s fine. I understand. You work such long shifts at the hospital, and then you had me weep all over you at the supermarket... I can’t believe we talked all night! But we were up so late, I’m not surprised you overslept. Come. Sit and eat. I’ve made pancakes,” she says, pulling out a chair opposite Arthur and patting it invitingly. The two of them stare at each other for a moment. Guinevere and Lancelot. Bloody Lancelot, that doctor from the hospital and Gwen’s ex-boyfriend! Well, she’s sure moved on quickly from Arthur. But then again, so has he. He and Merlin have gone from friends to more in record time, although in their case that was because there had always been feelings that lingered between them. Maybe it was the same for Gwen and Lancelot. Perhaps he was right, and what he and Gwen had had wasn’t even love at all. 

Glaring at the doctor resentfully, Arthur is just about to get up and go back to Merlin’s flat, when his thoughts are cut short by a loud and panicked scream. 

Gwen and Lancelot stare at each other in horror for a split second, before Gwen wipes her hands on a teatowel and hurries across the flat towards the spare room. “Wait here for a minute, I’ll check on her,” she tells Lancelot, who looks torn between obeying Gwen and getting up to help. He quietly pushes the chair back and pads after her. Arthur gets up slowly, sore still, and follows them both, wanting to see what he can do for his sister.

When Gwen reaches the door, she takes a bracing breath, straightens her spine, and lifts her head before knocking on it.

“Morgana?” she calls. “Are you okay? We heard screaming.”

She pauses and waits, her head tilted as she listens for a response. Arthur is standing right in front of her, and he tries to reach out a comforting hand, but it goes through her with no resistance whatsoever. With Merlin, it had often felt like treacle, or at least a bit of a tickle. Not a lot, just a vague sense that he had touched or been touched by the slightest of somethings. He had assumed it would be the same with Gwen. But no, she still can’t see him, and she still can’t feel him. He’s not sure what he exactly what he’d expected. Did he think she would suddenly be able to see him now, after he’d had that wonderful night with Merlin? Was he somehow hoping that the magic had rubbed off on him and made him able to touch, feel and be seen by others again? Judging by his disappointment, he thinks that perhaps, down in his hearts of hearts, he was. Gwen startles a little when Lancelot gently places a comforting hand on her shoulder—far too intimate a gesture for Arthur’s liking.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Though I should come and at least see what the matter is. Doctor, remember?”

Gwen smiles at him, her eyes lighting up, and places her hand over his to give it a quick squeeze. “Thanks,” she whispers in reply. “Morgana, I’m going to come in now, okay?” Gwen calls softly through the door. Arthur waits just outside, watching through the gap as Gwen and Lancelot push it open and slip inside. Gwen goes and sits on the side of the bed, taking Morgana’s hand in hers, whilst Lancelot stands nearby and lets Gwen do all the talking. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Morgana nods, her eyes wide and frightened as she pulls Gwen into her arms, crushing her with a hug. “A horrible, horrible one. It was— It was— I need... Merlin... and, and Arthur! I need to talk to them.”

“Morgana…” says Gwen in a gentle, but chiding tone. “It wasn’t real. It was just a nightmare. And _Arthur_ …” She chokes on her words. “Arthur is dead. We—we’ve talked about this.”

“Please,” says Morgana, whispering the words into Gwen’s hair. Finally they part, and Gwen smiles indulgently at her, wiping away the tears.

“She’s right,” interjects Lancelot. “It was only a dream. But if it troubled you Morgana, I can prescribe you something to help you rest.”

Morgana shakes her head vigorously. “No, no, thank you. Gaius—Gaius is managing my condition.” 

“Look, I’ve just put the kettle on. Let’s get you a fresh cuppa and some breakfast, yes? You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten. Come on, why don’t you get up and dressed and join me and Lancelot in a few minutes?”

She squeezes Morgana’s hand and then gets up off the bed, straightening her top as she heads to the door. Lancelot follows. They both pause there in the doorframe as Gwen turns back to look at Morgana. “It’s all going to be fine, Morgana. You’ll see. They’re just dreams, that’s all.” 

Arthur steps back to let them pass and watches Morgana for a minute, until she finally sighs, lets out a sniffle and starts to compose herself. When he’s certain she’s going to be okay, he turns to leave. It’s not his place to be here anymore. He closes his eyes, thinks of Merlin’s warm and welcoming flat, and feels himself drift there.

“What a stupid, impossible wanker,” Merlin mutters to himself, barely able to contain his frustration. He’d kept a lid on it while he was driving, not wanting to get himself into an accident because he couldn’t cope with his emotions. But now that he’s here, trudging through a soggy, squelching graveyard, he lets it have full rein. He’s not just angry at Arthur; he’s angry at himself, too. Just one tap against the brick wall he had built between his heart and Arthur, and it had all come crashing down around him. Why does he do this to himself? Why is he so drawn to Arthur that he just can’t say no—doesn’t _want_ to say no?

He’s trying to give Arthur the benefit of the doubt here, making his way through the markers to the still-new grave with Arthur’s headstone—Gwen had mentioned that it had been placed, but Merlin hadn’t wanted to go look. He was worried that it would make Arthur’s death too final. The longer he looks without finding Arthur, the greater his irritation becomes. He looks around, squinting through the rain for any glimpses of white. He checks underneath the tree where Arthur was waiting for him before. He waits there for five minutes, ten minutes, before his temper finally gets the better of him. Let Arthur wait out here in this rain. He’s a fucking ghost. Why the hell Merlin thought that this could ever work out between the two of them, especially when one of them is deceased, is beyond him, and he’s sick of it.

He trudges back to his car and heads for home.

Arthur waits on the sofa, his leg jiggling nervously. He wonders where Merlin is. Did he decide to stay back in Ealdor after waking up without him this morning? He sighs and runs a shaking hand through his hair. God. He’d really fucked up again, hadn’t he? It hadn’t even occurred to him until he’d got back to the flat and found it shrouded in darkness, all the curtains still pulled and Merlin nowhere to be found. He’s been waiting for ages and he’s not sure what to do. Should he go back to Ealdor again and try to talk with Merlin? Or should he wait here and hope that Merlin will come back tonight? He wants to go and check, but he’s pretty sure that it will make Merlin even more upset than he probably already is if he arrives at the flat and Arthur isn’t there. If only he weren’t a ghost, he’d be able to send Merlin a text or call him to explain, to try and cool his ire before seeing him in person.

He doesn’t know how long he waits for. The flat is quiet; silent except for the faint buzz and hum of the refrigerator out in the kitchen and the quiet drip, drip, drip of a tap that’s not quite been turned off. Arthur is beginning to understand why solitary confinement is considered a punishment. Especially when you can’t stop overthinking about things until you don’t know your head from your feet.

The noise of a key scraping in the lock startles him, and his head snaps up, his eyes automatically glued to the door. It swings open and in comes Merlin, hair plastered to his forehead, soaked to the bone.

They stare at each other. Merlin looks shocked, gormless. Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if his mouth fell open. Instead, Merlin snaps out of his surprise and his brow creases, his mouth forming a firm, thin line. He glares at Arthur and then strides into the flat, ignoring him completely as he heads to his bedroom and slams the door hard behind him.

Arthur gets up and follows him, passing seamlessly through the wall. He finds Merlin sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his wet clothes, his face buried in his hands. His back is bent and his head bowed as if defeated. He is silent though, apart from the sound of harsh, slightly hitched breathing.

“You’ll catch your death if you don’t change into something dry,” Arthur can’t help saying.

Merlin heaves a big sigh and wipes his face with his sleeve, then gets up and pulls a few items of clothing from his drawer.

“Get out,” he says, his voice low and quiet. His back is still turned towards Arthur.

“Merlin…”

“I said, get out, Arthur. Please.”

“We need to talk.”

Merlin laughs, vicious and broken. “Oh, so _now_ you want to talk. Now that you’ve run away from your feelings yet again. Where were you Arthur? With Gwen?”

Arthur stiffens, caught out. Of course Merlin knows. He knows Arthur, and had probably guessed exactly where he’d gone after he hadn’t been able to find him.

Merlin looks over his shoulder at him as he tugs off his shoes and snorts. “Of course you were. I’ve never been good enough, have I? Just—just go away and at least give me the illusion of still having some dignity left.”

Arthur takes a step towards him as he peels off his wet t-shirt, but Merlin shakes his head. 

“No,” he says, holding up a hand to make Arthur keep his distance.

“But it’s not—”

“Save it, Arthur,” says Merlin, swiping his wet fringe out of his eyes. “Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

God, his eyes are so blue, so clear and earnest. Arthur should go, but he doesn’t want Merlin to close off to him, not now. He’ll never get Merlin back again if he does. 

“No,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and standing firm. “I’m not going anywhere until you listen to me.”

Merlin frowns and looks down at his wet jeans. “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “Just let me change first, yeah?”

Arthur nods and sits down on the bed to wait. He tries not to look as Merlin tugs off his jeans, but his gaze wanders there anyway when Merlin’s boxers come off as well, the sodden material clinging to his pale, firm thighs. Arthur’s eyes travel upwards and pause at Merlin’s cock, and Merlin turns away, giving Arthur a perfect view of his arse instead. Arthur has never really been given a proper chance to see all of Merlin naked at once—not like this, at least. Merlin is tall, of course, and lean; Arthur already knew that. But he’s not fragile like you would suspect by looking at him. His back is strong; sinewy. Well-defined. Arthur can see his muscles ripple beneath the taut skin as Merlin reaches out for clean boxers. He lifts a toned leg as he steps into them, and his arse flexes with the movement. Arthur has to shift to accommodate the way his cock is swelling as he watches Merlin bend over, pushing out that pert, perfect arse. God, Merlin is gorgeous; there isn’t an ounce of fat on him, he’s lean all over. And that bottom... It looks just the right size for Arthur to wrap his hands around and— 

All of a sudden, he realises that Merlin is looking at him again, biting his lip to hide a smirk. He shakes his head as he pulls his boxers up, hiding that beautiful backside and cock from sight, then sits down on the end of the bed a respectable distance away and huffs out a loud breath. 

“I guess we should talk then,” he admits, looking down at his hands, which are resting on the thighs that are going to drive Arthur crazy during this conversation. “What did you want to say?”

Arthur turns toward him. “Look, you were right, I _did_ go to Gwen’s. But it’s not what you think, I promise. I needed to go there so that I could be sure.”

Merlin looks over at him skeptically.

“I don’t blame you for not trusting me, what with everything that happened before. But we were kids, and I’ve changed a lot since then. Or at least, I’d like to think that I have.”

“You have,” Merlin says. “Though you’re still a demanding prat a lot of the time.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, but continues, “I went to Gwen’s because I wanted to be fair, to both of you. I needed to see her and know for certain what I felt for her.”

“And?”

“I love her,” Arthur says honestly. “And a part of me always will. I can’t change that.”

Merlin is staring at the floor again. His jaw keeps tensing and his chin quivers just the slightest amount. Arthur wants to hold him.

“Merlin,” he says softly. Merlin looks over at him with eyes that are bright with unshed tears, and Arthur repeats, ”I love her. But I’m not _in love_ with her. I was. But I’m not anymore.”

Merlin’s brow furrows. “I don’t... I’m not... what does…” He clears his throat noisily and tries again. “So where does that leave us? _Is_ there even an ‘us’?”

Arthur reaches across the distance between then and takes Merlin’s hand. It’s as easy as it was before, and instantly he feels his arm start to tingle with warmth.

“I’m not sure, but I would like to find out. Wouldn’t you? I want to give us a chance this time. A proper one. I mean, I know that, technically, I’m dead and I don’t have a lot to offer, but—”

He’s cut off by Merlin darting towards him for a kiss. “Thank you,” Merlin breathes as he pulls away, opening his eyes with a smile that creases the corners of them. “I want to try, too.”

“Merlin!” Alice exclaims in surprise as she opens the front door. She pulls him close and crushes him against her in a hug. “How lovely to see you again so soon. And your friend...” she nods towards Arthur, who is watching the cars on the street. He turns back to her and Alice’s face brightens in recognition. “And Arthur too! How wonderful!”

She reaches for Arthur, but her arms pass through him. “Oh!” she says, holding a trembling hand to her mouth. “Oh, Arthur. My dear, dear boy. Come in, come in. _Both of you_.”

They follow her inside, and she calls down the corridor to let Gaius know that they have visitors.

“Just a minute, my dear. I’ll be right there,” Gaius calls back.

He appears suddenly at the end of the corridor. “Ah!” he exclaims. “Merlin and Arthur. This way!”

Alice smiles at the three of them indulgently before returning back to her beloved kitchen, from which the most marvellous smells are already permeating the air.

Once they are settled in Gaius workshop, he places a mug of tea down in front of Merlin and smiles warmly at Arthur.

“It is lovely, though strange, to see you again, Arthur. Now, I’ve been doing some more digging about your particular predicament, and I’m sad to say, there is no real guidance about how to return and cross the veil. Merely that once it happens, you will know that it’s your time to go.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “The books are as helpful as always, then.”

“I’m afraid so. Where are you at with regards to your investigation into Arthur’s death?” 

“Um, we’re not doing so great,” Merlin admits. “We interviewed a bunch of party guests yesterday, but no one seems to have seen anything suspicious. I’ve tried tracking people’s movements, but Cenred didn’t have access to his CCTV footage anymore. He gave it to the police, so it’s not like we can check if they’re telling the truth or not. It just... it felt like they were all telling the truth to me.”

Arthur snorts. “What? Are you some kind of human lie detector now?”

Merlin shifts uncomfortably, and Arthur throws his hands up. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised by that information anymore.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and continues. “Then there’s Blackwater Investments, who we know are channeling money through various different companies and are in possession of fine art for some reason. I think it’s some kind of money laundering scheme, but there’s no way to prove it. We’ve found some paper trails to show there’s been a lot of transferring of money to other bank accounts, but since they’re all nameless accounts held in Switzerland we can’t even say who’s behind it. And I’m not entirely sure how that all ties in to Arthur’s death, except that the accidents and strange occurrences were happening _before_ the party. So I don’t think we can dismiss them completely. But then again, why would they go through the trouble of killing a small-time detective—” 

“Hey!” interjects Arthur.

“What?” says Merlin. “It’s true!”

Gaius shakes his head at the pair of them. “Honestly, how you two boys have managed to make a success of that investigators business is beyond me. The pair of you are partners. Why on earth would someone kill Arthur, only to leave Merlin alive, hmm?”

Arthur looks at Gaius, confused. Gaius might actually have a point there, if it hadn’t have been for the attack against Merlin the other day. 

“They did threaten Merlin, though,” he points out.

“Threatened him?” Gaius asks.

Merlin and Arthur proceed to explain about the man with the knife who had confronted Merlin a few days ago.

“He’d probably have had his throat slit if I hadn’t knocked the knife out of the assailant’s hand,” Arthur finishes. “If that’s not as much of a threat as what happened to me, then I don’t know what is!”

Gaius’ eyebrow rises alarmingly.

“You knocked the knife from his hand, you say?” he asks. “Do you have any idea how?”

“Of course I did, Gaius. I wasn’t going to stand there and watch Merlin get killed!” Arthur responds heatedly. “But I don’t know how it happened. One minute he was telling Merlin to stop his investigation into my death, the next he was running away down the alley.” 

“Indeed! Well, there you go. Someone doesn’t want you digging deeper and finding out the truth.” Gaius turns his gaze toward Merlin. “You ought to be very careful what you do and where you tread, Merlin. And uh, don’t be afraid to... _defend_ yourself. And as for you, Arthur… Tell me more about the knife. Was there anything different about it? Do you remember anything strange happening at the time, anything that felt odd or different? ” He grabs a pen and paper and sits, looking at Arthur eagerly.

Tell him about the knife? What is there to tell? “It looked like an ordinary pocket knife,” Arthur says, shrugging. 

“Hmm, interesting,” Gaius says, looking at him over his glasses.

“Look, I wasn’t about to just _stand around_ while some hired thug decided to kill or threaten Merlin!” says Arthur with exasperation. “So I just… grabbed at it. It happened very quickly. But it startled him and he ran off soon after.”

“Interesting,” murmurs Gaius again, writing steadily. “And is this the only time you’ve experienced the ability to touch since you… became deceased?”

Arthur tries to think back to all the occasions when he’s reached out and attempted to feel things. With Merlin… well. He’s been able to feel something with Merlin right from the beginning. It’s never hurt, exactly, but there had always been some vague sense of something being there, right from the moment that Merlin had poked his hand through him the night he’d come back. And then there’s the computer keyboard. With a lot of concentration, he can press a few keys. And the paper balls he’s been flicking at Merlin. Except… he can only do these things some of the time. The times when… oh. He can only do them when Merlin is around. Suddenly a lot of things are starting to slot into place.

“No, uh. I’ve been able to touch computer keyboards and a few bits of paper. I can sit and I’ve managed to stay in the seat in a car. And… and. I um, broke a vase.” Merlin shoots him a bemused look. “Then there was, uh. One of Merlin’s friends pushed me one time, and, uh…”

Arthur looks over at Merlin, begging him to help find some way of avoiding mentioning that they’d had sex the night before.

“We, um. Hugged. Last night,” Merlin blurts out, and Arthur rolls his eyes.

Gaius’ infamous eyebrow raises once more. “Hugged?”

“Yes,” says Merlin nervously. “We hugged and I could feel Arthur, like he was solid. He was cold. And, and, Arthur could feel me.” Merlin’s face is bright red with embarrassment.

Gaius looks between the two of them suspiciously, and Arthur has to look away. _Thanks, Merlin. You might as well have told Gaius exactly what we got up to last night._

“And that’s all that happened?” Gaius asks, thankfully returning to write more notes.

Merlin bites his lip. “Arthur started to become warm under my touch.”

Gaius’s head shoots up at that. “That’s not possible,” he states.

“Well, obviously it IS,” replies Merlin hotly, “because it happened whilst Arthur and I were fu—”

An awkward silence descends on the room as Merlin stops mid-sentence, realising what he’s just said.

“I see. Well, trust you two to be unconventional.” Gaius sighs. “I fear that this may be something quite unprecedented, but I am waiting for another tome or two to arrive that I believe might give us more insight, so we’ll see what they have to say on the subject.”

Merlin gets up and cranes his neck to see what it is that Gaius is writing in his notes. “So, uh, do you have a theory about why we can do that? And have you been able to find anything further about...” Merlin’s face falls a little as he asks, “about how Arthur can cross the veil?”

“I’m not sure. I have a few ideas, but nothing fully-formed as yet. Arthur, would you say that a lot of these instances have occurred around anyone particular?”

Arthur raises his own eyebrow at him. “You already know the answer to that.”

Gaius shoots Merlin a darting glance. It’s so quick Arthur might have missed it under normal circumstances. “You know, I’m getting a bit thirsty. Arthur, would you be able to ask Alice if we could have a nice pot of tea?”

The sound of Merlin clearing his throat draws both of their attention. “He knows, Gaius. I told him.”

Enlightenment dawns on Gaius’s face. “Oh! Well, in that case, I would say that your magic is to blame, Merlin. Not that blame is really the word that I would use. Giving the sense of touch to someone who previously had none would be blessing. But I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a ghost whose ability to touch objects depended so heavily on another. Usually poltergeists have an energy of their own, which they utilise to influence the world around them. We might be treading into new territory here. I had wondered whether Arthur might be drawing on your magic somehow. But, as I said, it is merely a theory.”

“Wait, wait,” Arthur interrupts him. “Gaius knows, too?”

Both Gaius and Merlin look over at him with amusement. Merlin grins wryly. “Yep, he sure does. He has magic too. How else do you think I learned how to use it? Mum had to bring in someone to help her out.”

“To use— To help—? I’m not quite sure I’m following all this. Learning magic? Do you mean studying spells and things, like in Harry Potter? No wonder they were your favourite books. And Gaius...?” Arthur frowns. He fixes Gaius with a look. “You can do magic things, too. I mean, I just… Magic is really real and people know about it?”

“Of course it is, Arthur. There are so many things in the world that cannot be explained except by magic. It is a force as old as the universe itself. Some humans are conduits for it, some can harness it, and there are some people such as Merlin and myself who contain it within them, in varying quantities. Until recent times, the evidence has been mostly anecdotal, but there are a few people out there trying to apply the scientific method within the magical community.”

“How can someone tell if they have magic or not? Do you get… is it like… a disease? Is it… is it...?” 

Merlin groans, and when Arthur looks over at him and he grimaces and rubs his hand over his face. “Look, you just… know. I was doing magic before I could even talk. Mum has video and everything.”

Arthur looks puzzled. “Really?” 

Merlin nods, and Gaius agrees. “It’s not a disease, nor is it catching. Normally magic manifests during a person’s teens. You have to have the potential within you. However, Merlin isn’t what you’d call a usual case. I suspect that is why he’s been able to gift you with the sense of touch.”

Arthur nods even though he’s a bit perplexed by it all. It does seem to make sense though. Morgana only started having her dreams when she was a teenager. Before that she’d been an ordinary, bratty little girl who stayed with them on weekends. There had been nothing particularly special about her.

“Is there anything we can be doing to speed things up?” Merlin asks, eyeing up the pile of books at the end of the table.

“If you’d like you can read through these two books. Might give you more of an idea about what Arthur needs to do to be allowed through the veil.” Gaius passes Merlin two ancient tomes and fixes him with a stare. “Be careful with them, Merlin. These texts are irreplaceable. I don’t want a repeat of the coffee pot incident again.” 

“That was one time!” Merlin protests indignantly. “And it came right out.”

Arthur smiles. He can just picture Merlin spilling coffee all over a priceless book. He’s done it often enough with their case files.

“Right.” Gaius shakes his head. “Well, if that’s all from you gentlemen for now, I have a business to run. I’ll see you at the weekend for your shift on Saturday, Merlin.”

Merlin’s phone rings shrilly into the night, waking him and Arthur from their slumber. He gropes for it in the dark with a groan. Who on earth would be calling them this time of night?

“Who is it?” Arthur murmurs, pushing himself up on his arm to peer over Merlin’s shoulder. “Is that Gwen?”

Merlin swipes blindly at the screen and finally manages to answer the call. “‘Lo?” he answers with a yawn.

_“Oh, Merlin. Thank goodness, I’m so glad you picked up,”_ comes Morgana’s voice in his ear. _“I’m sorry for calling so late, but I really need to talk to you.”_

Merlin covers the phone and whispers, “Morgana,” to Arthur before returning to the conversation.

“Uh, that’s okay. Can I... help you... with anything…? Or...?” he asks, trying to figure out how to small talk in the middle of the night.

_“Yes. Well, I think so, yes. Or maybe it’s more how I can help you. You need to keep away from the docks. Don’t ever go there.”_

“What?” Merlin asks, his brain slow and sluggish.

_“Don’t go to the docks.”_

“I wasn’t planning on it, but, thanks I guess?” He yawns again and scratches his head, wondering if Morgana leaving the facility was the best choice after all if she’s going to be calling him in the middle of the night with cryptic nonsense like this.

“What’s she saying?” asks Arthur, leaning close to eavesdrop.

 _“Look, Merlin—”_ continues Morgana. _“You know what we discussed yesterday, about magic?”_

Merlin hums down the phone at her. “‘Course I do.”

 _“I’ve been having visions again. Ever since I saw Arthur. And they’re... they’re terrifying. They’re like the dreams that I used to have before— before—”_

Abruptly things start to click for Merlin. “Before they took you away, when we were kids.”

_“Yes. I used to see things then, stuff that I couldn’t know. Most of it scared me. Do you remember my friend, Nimueh?”_

Merlin searches his memory for the unusual name. “She was the girl who got struck by lightning just before I moved to Camelot, wasn’t she? I remember there being a memorial service.”

 _“I_ saw _it,”_ she tells him.

He frowns and sits up. “Saw what?”

 _“I saw that she was going to get killed by lightning the night before it happened. I had a dream, a nightmare. I tried—”_ Her voice gets cut off by a sob, and when she speaks again it’s a whisper. _“I tired to tell her not to go. That it was dangerous, but she just laughed at me and told her that Owain would keep her safe. I didn’t— I don’t think I’d realised just what had happened until I found out that she’d died the next morning. And even then… I felt like by dreaming it, I had caused it. So I am_ begging you _Merlin, please, please don’t go down to the docks.”_

“Morgana, calm down. Breathe, it’s okay. Look, tell me what you... saw.”

Arthur presses himself up against Merlin’s side and tries to get as close to the phone as possible. Merlin rolls his eyes and puts the phone on speaker, holding it in front of them so that Arthur can listen in.

“It was just—it started just as a normal dream, you were in the office, with—with my brother and then… well, look. He kissed you, okay. And I know you’re going to say that that’s not possible. Or not going to happen,” Merlin exchanges a guilty smile with Arthur. “But please listen to me.” They hear Morgana take a deep breath over the speakerphone. “So... Arthur kissed you, and then he left. Not long after he’d gone, you left too. And then before I knew it, you were down at the docks, creeping around and trying to see into warehouses, until you found one and—”

Morgana stops speaking abruptly and they can hear Gwen’s voice faintly in the background. “Morgana? Oh my God, Morgana. It’s the middle of the night. You’re shivering. Who are you talking to?”

“I’m— I’m talking to Merlin and Arthur. I need to tell them… I have to tell them about my vision. About what happens. Merlin, listen to me. Don’t go there. Even though that’s where it’s hidden. Promise me?”

There’s a sudden cry and the sounds of movement, and more murmured voices come down the line, urgent this time. Merlin and Arthur listen on in stunned silence, trying to figure out what’s going on. “Come on, Morgana,” Gwen is saying kindly. “Let’s get her to bed. Lancelot, could you get her a blanket? Come on. Come on, Morgana. It’s okay. It’s all going to be fine.”

There are a few mild protests from Morgana in the background, and then the sound of the phone being picked up again.

“Merlin?” says Gwen, her voice clear now that she’s speaking directly into the handset.

“Yes, I’m here. Gwen, look I need to—” Merlin begins.

“Merlin, I am so sorry,” says Gwen apologetically. “I don’t know how she got hold of my phone. I had it charging in our room. I’m so sorry that she woke you.”

“No, it’s okay. Look, Gwen—”

“I should go and calm her down, she’s been having terrible night terrors ever since she got here. I think we might need to contact the facility. It just keeps getting worse. She’ll feel better in the morning I’m sure, and she’ll be horrified that she woke you like this. I’ll let you get back to sleep. Goodnight!”

“But Gw—” 

The line goes dead. Merlin sighs and looks over at Arthur, who is frowning in confusion. “I don’t understand what Morgana was saying.”

“I, um. I think she was saying that she’s a Seer. Seers...they can see the future, or sometimes, the past. Gaius says that it can be very frightening and upsetting to know things in advance. He wanted to talk to her the other day, to tell her what she was and that he has magic too. He’s going to teach her how to use it and to not be afraid of herself. We were talking about doing it once she was settled, but I guess that she needs it now.”

“You’re telling me. Will she be... better, once you and Gaius help her?” Arthur asks tentatively.

Merlin blows out his cheeks and shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. We’ve never tried to help a Seer before. But I hope so, for Morgana’s sake.”

He taps his thumb against his lip as he thinks, turning over all the things that Morgana had said during their phone call. She’d been terrified about him going down to the docks, but why? What was down there? Merlin is sure that he can handle it, whatever it is. He’s been in far tricker situations since they had started their agency and had always come out unscathed at the end. He’s going to have to talk to Gaius in the morning. Perhaps Merlin shouldn’t have forced the issue with him and just dealt with Morgana by himself. It might have been faster. But whilst he’s read a lot of Gaius’ books, he’s not had the same lifetime of experience that Gaius has, and he tends to be a bit impulsive when it comes to solving magical problems. Morgana needs careful handling, not his reckless, brute-force approach that Gaius swears shouldn’t work at all, even if it turns out okay most of the time. 

“ _Mer_ lin...” comes Arthur’s voice, completely shattering his tired thoughts. “Your thinking is keeping me awake. Come here and sleep.”

Arthur tugs drowsily on Merlin’s arm and he lets himself be pulled back into Arthur’s embrace, his magic humming with contentment. Wrapped up safely in Arthur’s arms, he tries to keep thinking about all of their problems and how they can possibly solve them, but before he knows it, sleep has claimed him.

The next day finds them in the Emrys & Pendragon office, as Morgana had foreseen, Merlin sorting through emails and the post, tutting over the bills as he replays his conversation with Gaius in his head.

Gaius had been concerned about Morgana’s behaviour and the late night call, but he was more worried about the effect that admitting her back to the facility would have on her psyche. Instead, he proposed that, as a doctor himself, he could see to her care, and that he and Alice would bring her to stay with them in their spare room so that they could focus more fully on helping her control and master her visions. He hoped that experiencing the warm and loving care of a good home would do her good, as it had for Merlin once upon a time when his mother had been gravely ill. He had stayed with Alice and Gaius for several months, whilst Hunith had undergone long treatments in hospital for her condition. Merlin was so grateful her health was better now. 

Gaius thought that if he could encourage Morgana to consciously conjure a vision, it would help her to understand that this was something that she could control, rather than something that controlled her, and that eventually, she would be able to turn on and off her visions as easily as using a tap. But those levels of control were rare and could only be achieved after long years of dedicated study. Merlin was sure, though, that Morgana, having inherited the Pendragon gene for stubbornness, could achieve it, if that was what she wanted.

With a plan and possible solution to offer, Gaius was going to go and speak with Morgana and Gwen today; of course, Gwen would be given a redacted version of the truth, but with luck, she and Morgana would agree.

With the post finally sorted, Merlin opens the drawer of his desk to tuck the bills away, hoping to forget about them for at least another couple of weeks before any debtors come chasing. His eyes fall upon their case files for Arthur’s death–the police reports, the print outs from Arthur’s breaking and entering, and the files that they’d… procured from Blackwater Industries. He pulls them out again thoughtfully, and Arthur looks over with curious eyes.

“Think you might have thought of something?” he asks.

Merlin shakes his head and flicks open the first folder. “No, not really. Just re-reading again in case I missed something.” He picks up his mug and slips at his tea as he scans them yet again, hoping for something, anything to jump out at him.

“I wonder if there’s anything I can do to help,” Arthur ponders out loud.

Merlin doesn’t look up. “In what way?”

“Morgana. I feel guilty about her. I should have done more when we were younger, protected her from being taken away. I’m her brother, for God’s sake! I’m supposed to look after her.”

“And how would have done that, exactly?” Merlin asks him. “I mean, trust me, I blame myself for it more than you. I _knew_ it was likely magic. I knew what it could do and could probably have helped her to control it, at least. But I said nothing. I was too afraid of incriminating myself and suffering the same fate as she did for it. But we can’t continue to beat ourselves up for what happened in the past. That’s over and done. We can only push ourselves to do better in the future.”

Arthur looks at him funny, and it’s an expression Merlin hasn’t seen on his face before, so he can’t really place the emotion. It’s possibly somewhere between confused and maybe… impressed.

“There are times, Merlin, where you display a sort of... I don't know what it is. I don't want to say—it's not wisdom... but, yes. That's what it is.” He grins and shakes his head, settling down at his desk and looking over the paperwork Merlin has spread across the tabletop for him.

Merlin, meanwhile, scratches his head and tries to focus on the screen in front of him. Whilst he’s technically been through all this information before, he did fall asleep part-way through (it had been a long day, okay?), and he hopes that looking at it through fresh eyes might provide some more insight. He clicks into another folder and into another. It’s hopeless. There are some suspicious files on the cloned computer data, which gives them a good indicator that something less than legal could be going on at Blackwater Industries, but there are no actual leads and nothing that will help secure a conviction. Merlin taps his finger against his lip. Perhaps they were actually smart and didn’t keep any incriminating evidence in the office on the computer. But from everything else he’s seen so far, it doesn’t seem to be a very smart operation. He opens his drawer and pulls out the original USB drive, closing his eyes as he thinks. Maybe they were a little more savvy than he thought and hid the relevant information elsewhere in the office, or maybe... 

His magic gives him a little jolt when he feels it. It’s faint, but it’s there. A residual layer of magic that coats the inside of the drive like a thin film. Gods. Have they concealed files using _magic_? Now that he knows what to look for, he’s sure of it. Very, very clever indeed. Who would ever think that data was being concealed in such a way? Certainly it had never crossed his mind to check for it. He imagines they must think of this as the ultimate in security; they probably didn’t count on a PI with magic getting his hands on it. Very sneaky. Who at Blackwater Industries, or their subsidiaries could have magic, he wonders? He’s certain that the investor he spoke to didn’t have any in him. Nor does Agravaine. He’s not sure Agravaine even has a soul.

Merlin smothers the foreign magic with his own, forcing the threads of fine spell that has been woven into pieces. Satisfied, he opens his eyes again and pops the USB into his computer. He opens the control panel and types Folder in the search bar. Under Folder Options, he clicks on Show Hidden Files and Folders. A few clicks later, he hits okay and starts to search through the folders where they held the financial data again. Merlin’s heart jumps into his throat. It worked. He can now see some greyed out folders which appear to contain client and _inventory_ information. He reads through the names of the files and spies one clearly named “passwords”. He rolls his eyes. Child’s play. He opens the file and scans the information. Listed there are the names and details of several private gmail accounts. He opens a brower and logs in, then opens the most recent email. Fuck, this is a gold mine; the sender seems to be making clear arrangements for the sale of items that he’s certain must have dubious origins. Most of the emails have been sent from Mr A. duBois—Agravaine! Merlin always _knew_ he was shady. Oh… and hello there, Mr King! He _knew_ there had to have been something more behind those expensive pieces of art Cenred had shown him. How typically cartoon-villian of Cenred to have shown and boasted about them to him. He must have been laughing at Merlin all along.

“Merlin,” says Arthur, interrupting before he can explore his find further. “I need these turning.”

Merlin looks up and nods at him, then gives his magic a nudge. It fizzes momentarily through his veins, manifesting itself behind his eyes as the papers do as he bids them and flip themselves over. Arthur smiles, his eyes dark, then ducks his head and returns to his reading.

There’s something about seeing how much Arthur enjoys him using magic that does things to Merlin, and it takes a moment for him to shake himself out of his stupor. He pushes the thoughts away though and returns to the emails. He can’t help but think he might have some kind of lead here. 

He opens another email and there’s an address—some kind of meeting point, as far as Merlin can tell. Cenred seems to be the one who is the physical contact, but Agravaine is the one who has been making most of the communications. How typical of him to not want to get his hands dirty. Merlin carries on reading through the emails. It looks like their standard procedure is to transfer funds to a holding account and then arrange to bid on specific items in auction—thus turning all that ill-gotten money into a legitimate purchase—and then arranging for the storage and transfer of goods at a specific address. Merlin scribbles it down on a piece of paper. He rubs his face. Should he tell Arthur? But then he remembers how well it went down last time he tried to suggest that Agravaine could be anything less than honest. In Arthur’s eyes his uncle is a saint. No, best to pop out on his own, and then if it turns out to be something they can both come back later. 

He stands up and grabs his jacket. “I just remembered,” he tells Arthur. “I need a few things from the shops. Why don’t you head on over to Gwen’s to meet Gaius and Morgana without me? I’ll catch you up.”

“Oh, all right,” says Arthur, sounding distracted. “I wasn’t planning on going for a while yet. But I guess this stuff can wait. See you in a little bit then? 

Merlin nods, and Arthur smiles at him, a quick, indulgent smile. He leans forward and gives Merlin a sweet, lingering kiss before pulling away and sobering up, as though he hadn’t just been a little bit soppy.

“See you later then,” he calls over his shoulder with a grin, and Merlin shakes his head, bemused. He watches Arthur as he goes, enjoying the view—guilt-free for once—before returning to his files.

Then he sighs. Should he feel guilty in lying to Arthur about his errands? Possibly. But it’s not like he’s going to actually _do_ anything. He’ll just pop the address into his phone and stop by quickly to check it out, _then_ he’ll head to Gwen’s. There’s no harm in a little look. He huffs a little laugh as he remembers that’s what he used to tell himself about checking out Arthur’s arse.

Merlin frowns as he draws up to the building. It’s a medium-sized warehouse near the waterside down at the marina. He bites his lip as he remembers Morgana’s warning. She’d mentioned something about not going down to the docks. Does this really qualify as a dock? Even if it does, he’s here now and he might as well take a little snoop. He can be quiet and careful, and once he’s gleaned more information he and Arthur can decide on their next move. They don’t have very much time left until the full moon, and they can’t really afford to keep stalling with their investigation. He loves Arthur, and it means more than he could have ever imagined to have Arthur love him back, but he knows as well as Gaius does that Arthur’s not supposed to be here. Not really. So the sooner they can get things sorted, the sooner Arthur can be at peace. Merlin will have to deal with that fact sooner or later, so better make it sooner, before he falls even deeper in love with him than he already has.

With that in mind, he slips out of the car and creeps up to the warehouse, careful to pick his way down the alleyway around the back until he spots the loading bay. The huge rolling shutter door is open, but there’s no truck pulled up to it. Merlin looks around carefully. There’s no one around, so he takes his chance and sneaks inside, heading down one of the bays where there are pallets stacked on the shelves. He guesses the boxes must contain precious art and other stolen goods of varying descriptions. How brazen of them to operate out of a warehouse this close to the centre of the city. They must be very confident that they’re not going to get caught. 

The sound of footsteps echoes through the warehouse, getting closer, and Merlin panics as he hears voices. He slips between two crates in the pallet racks beside him and slides down to the ground, hoping that he’s hidden well enough by the shadows.

The footsteps stop not to far away from Merlin, and he pricks up his ears. His heart is hammering in his chest, his mouth feels dry, and he thinks that he might be physically sick with the tension of it. Has he been discovered? What if they have cameras concealed about the place and watched him sneaking in? He curses himself for being such an idiot. Why hadn’t he thought to use some kind of spell, to fool them into thinking he wasn’t there at all? He had made sure to learn a bunch of enchantments that might be useful for sneaking around ever since they set up this business, and he’s used them many times before. But when it comes to Arthur, it seems like he loses all common sense. Always has.

“Are you ready? The lorries will be here soon for pick up,” a man’s voice says, not far away. It’s deep, and melodious, and for some reason, familiar.

“I still think you’re overreacting,” comes the other voice, and Merlin feels sure that he knows it too. But how? He continues to listen, wondering what he might see if he peeks out between the crates. “We’ve been working out of this warehouse for almost a year now, and the police haven’t got a clue! There’s no need to move anything. I think you forget, Agravaine, this is my livelihood now.”

Merlin inhales sharply. Agravaine! So he’s here doing some of the heavy lifting for once. Why?

“Too bad,” Agravaine replies. “If we don’t move this lot now, then we’re sure to be caught. That fool of a boy who worked with my nephew was skulking around the offices the other day. He knows too much. I’m sure of it. If we get caught, a fat lot of good your livelihood will do then! We are selling this lot at auction to release the cash and then ceasing trading. Immediately.”

“But come on! I can put out a couple of crappy records, my fans _eat that shit up_. But the royalties money won’t last forever. You promised me a big payout. My name is all over the auction records for our art deals! If it ever gets out… Besides, what will _you_ do for money without this?”

“Ah, well, Mr King, you see that is precisely why I don’t need this side venture anymore. In a few weeks, I will finally receive my sister’s money. My darling deceased nephew’s inheritance. Now that I’ve done away with the brat, that money is legally mine. Just in time too. He was about to marry that commoner girlfriend of his, and then all the money would have gone to her. It’s just as well the family title went to me. Our father would have been turning in his grave!”

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. Agravaine? _Agravaine_ had killed Arthur. His own _uncle_ , the man who had shown Gwen so much care and concern when she’d contacted him to inform him of Arthur’s death. No wonder Morgana hadn’t known anything about her brother’s death—Agravaine had sworn blind that he would tell her, and Uther, too, but he clearly hadn’t. Merlin had always thought that Uther was a cold, harsh man, but not showing up at his son’s funeral had been a new low. Now he knew why: Agravaine. Merlin had suspected he was involved in the money laundering scheme from the beginning, but he hadn’t thought that Agravaine would stoop as low as murder. The slimey, murderous _bastard_. He needs to get out of here and find Arthur. Surely this time Arthur will believe him.

He pokes his head out from between the crates and sees Agravaine and Cenred standing a short distance away, their backs turned from him. It’s now or never. He slowly slides out from behind the crates and tiptoes his way towards the exit, glancing over his shoulder as the men continue to argue with one another. Suddenly, Merlin trips and almost goes sprawling. He steadies himself just in time, holding him breath as he waits for discovery. But he seems to have got away with it—until his phone starts to ring. 

The shrill sound echoes noisily around the open warehouse, startling Merlin so much that he drops the phone in his panic to silence it. He cringes, freezing in place as it clatters to the floor. 

“Oi! What are you doing here?”

Coming to his senses, Merlin snatches at his phone, which has fallen silent with one missed call on the floor. He shoves it into his pocket and presses the volume up button three times to activate the voice recorder. Gods, he is so _very_ fucked. With a sigh, he whirls around to face the two criminals, pulling himself up to his full height. May as well go out with some dignity.

“Merlin,” sneers Agravaine, looking him up and down.

“Hello Agravaine, you traitorous son of a bitch!” Merlin replies. “You know, I knew about the money laundering, but I never thought you’d actually be capable of this. I guess I should have realised. You’ve always looked out for yourself. Pretending to be this kind, generous uncle—Arthur might have fallen for it, but I never did. We might well have caught you sooner if it weren’t for Arthur’s refusal to listen. He would never believe his mother’s brother would ever do anything illegal, let alone murder him.” 

“I don’t know how you found us,” spits Agravine. “But I do know that you will regret it. You’ve always been such an _annoying, nosy_ little so-and-so. I should have had you killed when I had the chance.” 

Merlin rolls his eyes at him. “You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you? Then they’d be no one left to get justice for Arthur’s murder.”

Agravaine laughs. “Oh, Cenred. Isn’t he cute?”

Cenred leers at Merlin and licks his lips, drinking him in. “He’s delicious. Do we have to kill him? Maybe we could keep him...A live-action version of Hylas, you know; blue _really_ is his colour...”

“Down, boy. Your libido has got us in trouble more than once. There will be others you can get your paws on. Now, Merlin…” Agravaine says, turning back to him and reaching for something behind his back. He pulls out a gun. “How about you put your hands up and come quietly, and I’ll make sure your death is a quick one.”

Merlin smiles a little at the threat. Was a gun aimed at him face supposed to scare him? He could stop time, flick it around and send the bullet back at Agravaine in the blink of an eye. He shakes his head and takes a step forward confidently. “Come on, Agravaine, the game is up. Why don’t you come along quietly with me, and then I won’t turn a blind eye when Arthur’s police officer buddies kick the shit out of you when they arrest you?”

Agravaine smirks in response. “Arrest me? On what charge? You have no evidence, and I have very good solicitors.”

Merlin waves an arm around at the crates and loaded pallets around the warehouse. He knows that this is all mind-games and posturing, but if he can just cajole Agravaine into confessing again, this time he’s got his voice recorder on in his pocket to capture it. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, pulling a face. “I’d say there’s enough art here purchased with your laundered money to put you away for life, not to mention the fact that we have proof of you stealing all those funds. And we’ve had plenty of time to investigate your whereabouts around the time of Arthur’s death,” he bluffs.

“Shit,” says Cenred. “Let’s just get this stuff packed away and then we can get going. Do what you want with the boy, Agravaine. I am not going to jail because you neglected to take care of the finer details.”

Agravaine cocks the trigger. “Come with me, Mr Emrys. And don’t try any funny business.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere with _you_ ,” hisses Merlin.

“I think you forget yourself. Look, I know you’re upset about Arthur, but he had to go. My sister’s money should never have gone to him in the first place. _Uther_ ,” Agravaine practically spits his name, “convinced her to change her will to leave everything to their son. At least she had _some sense_ in preventing him from getting his grubby hands on it. All I had to do was get rid of Arthur before he turned twenty-five, and the money was mine, as it should have be in the first place. He was a sad casualty, but a necessary one.”

“You’re not sorry at all!” cried Merlin. “You were happy to see him dead. You never liked him. Arthur never did anything to you, except treat you like family. Meanwhile, you pretended to be a loving Uncle whilst all the time you were plotting his death. You disgust me.”

Merlin takes a step closer, and Agravaine’s narrows his eyes at him. “Now, now. Calm yourself. I don’t want to shoot you. Not really. Gun deaths are so messy, and we’d never get the blood stains out.”

Merlin tuts as he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Agravaine throws back his head and laughs. “You honestly think you can stop me? I got away with murder once, Merlin. I can get away with it again.”

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with. So why don’t you just drop the gun, and then I can take you in to the police and we can get this over and done with. Don’t prolong your own misery.”

Agravaine squeezes the trigger. It as much time as it takes to blink, Merlin let’s his instincts take over and the bullet stops, hanging in mid-air for a moment before dropping harmlessly to the ground. Agravaine’s jaw drops and his eyes flick up to Merlin’s face. He looks surprised as he stares directly into Merlin's eyes which are no doubt blazing with magic. He’s not so cocky now that the tables are turned. But Merlin’s victory is short-lived. A moment later, he feels a blunt object strike the back of his head and things blur as he stumbles, before he falls to the floor.

“Well done, Valiant,” he hears Cenred say, and then everything goes black.

Arthur sits by table, leaning on it with one arm and drumming his fingers. He’s bored. So very, very bored. Merlin said he’d be here ages ago, but instead, Arthur is stuck here watching Morgana’s hopeless attempts to actually _use_ her magic. Here he was thinking this magic thing would be a bit more exciting, but so far it’s been nothing more than Morgana concentrating very, very hard and making a candle wick smolder. Gaius’ demonstration at least made it catch light.

“You have to believe in it, Morgana. Truly believe that you have the power to light the candle,” he hears Gaius say yet again. Gaius has told Morgana the same thing so many times that she’s close to ripping him a new one, Arthur can tell, and he doesn’t bother turning around.

“Let’s try again. Repeat after me. _Forbærnan_.”

“For-bear-nan,” Morgana tries again, completely mispronouncing it. 

“Roll the ‘baer’ part more. And you have to believe you can do it. I know you can. You have the magic within you. You just have to seize it and tell it what to do.”

“For- _bær_ -nan,” Morgana says slowly, and she lets out a delighted squeal, clapping her hands together.

“Well done!” praises Gaius. “I told you that you could do it.”

Arthur looks over at the newly lit flame and smiles to himself. He’s happy for his sister, but mostly he’s happy that they can finally move on to the next stage of whatever Gaius’ training plan is. The idea is to have Morgana utilise her magic for small things at first. Once she is able to use it effectively, then Gaius will work with her to try and control her visions. At least they are all on the same page, now. Arthur shakes his head. He’s not surprised it has taken Morgana as long as it has to believe she had magic; he can still hardly believe it himself. And Merlin… the fact that _Merlin_ of all people has magic… Gaius has even told him that given what he’s seen Merlin do over the years, he’s the most powerful sorcerer that Gaius has ever heard of, and Arthur really has to draw the line at that. Clumsy, loveable Merlin a powerful sorcerer? 

Arthur lets out a long sigh. Is anything the way he thought it had been when he was alive? It seems like ever since he died it’s been revelation after revelation. All these things that he should have known about himself, and about others, before he died. He feels sad that he learned it all too late. Well... perhaps not too late for himself and Merlin. And he hopes that it’s not too late for Morgana to live a normal, healthy life with her magical abilities, however they’ve manifested. He worries that she’ll be forever damaged by the years of being institutionalised for something that wasn’t her fault, but he resolves there and then that she won’t ever go back to that place. He won’t let it happen. Gaius and Alice have stepped in now and are going to see to her magical education, as Arthur’s taken to thinking about it, as well as nurture her overall well-being, and he knows that Merlin will look after her too. He hopes that, with all their efforts combined, giving her the care and support that she should have received all those years ago will be enough to save her.

He watches as Gaius extinguishes the flame with another whispering of strange words. “Okay, let’s try again, and once you get the hang of lighting the candle, I will teach you how to extinguish it.”

Drumming his fingers on the table again, Arthur returns to his thoughts. It feels like they are all on the cusp of... something, something he can’t quite put his finger on. But he has a definite feeling of unease, that’s been slowly creeping up on him ever since Morgana called them the night before.

Morgana says the spell again, “ _Forbærnan_ ,” and the candle catches light. She glances over at Arthur with a proud smile, her back straight. “Did you see, Arthur? I did it.”

“Eventually,” he can’t help but retort. The old habit of bickering siblings a hard one to drop even under the circumstances. And that gut-wrenching feeling of something about to go wrong doesn’t help matters. “Took you long enough.”

“Just you wait, Arthur. I’ll turn you into the bone-idle toad that you are!” She turns to Gaius eagerly. “I can learn a spell to turn Arthur into a toad can’t I? Or a frog. I’d settle for a frog.”

Gaius shakes his head fondly at them both. “Now, now. Settle down the pair of you. You’re grown adults. No one will be turning anyone into toads or frogs. But you _will_ be extinguishing this flame. Now, repeat after me…” 

Arthur gets up and starts to wander the room, trying to rid himself of his restlessness and ease the foreboding he feels.

“For god’s sake, Arthur. What is it? You’re distracting me with your relentless pacing.”

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Arthur murmurs. “Merlin should be back by now. He said he was just getting some bits from the shops. But that was ages ago.”

Morgana rolls her eyes at him. ‘Lovesick,’ she mouths at Gaius.

Gaius gives a long suffering sigh. “Look, if it will make the two of you happy, I will give Merlin a call with my mobile phone. Just let me…” He pats at his pockets and makes a triumphant sound when he pulls out a battered mobile that is so old it’s not even a smartphone. “Now, let me see…” Gaius puts on his glasses and then proceeds to dial in Merlin number by hand. Arthur wants to take the older man aside and show him how his phone’s address book and quick dial works, but that would probably take even longer. “Ah ha!” Gaius exclaims. “It’s ringing.” He holds it to his ear for a moment, listening, then hangs up. “No answer, I’m afraid. No matter. I’m sure Merlin is fine.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, I don’t like it. I don’t feel good about this. Merlin _always, always_ answers your calls.”

Gauis looks at Morgana speculatively. “I wonder…” he murmurs.

“What?” she asks with surprise.

“I’m wondering if it might be worth skipping ahead in your training to put Arthur’s mind at ease…”

“I don’t follow,” she says.

Arthur watches with a raised eyebrow. What exactly is Gaius asking, here?

Gaius takes a seat next to Morgana.

“What I am saying is, let’s make your visions work for _you_. I want to see if you can force a vision to happen.”

Morgana looks at him with astonishment. “I can actually do that?” she asks.

“Potentially. Are you willing to try? Maybe you’ll get to see Merlin walking back from the supermarket because that car of his has broken down again. Or perhaps he’s going back for a second time after he left his wallet at home. _You_ are the only one here with the potential to See that. So, what do you say? Shall we see how much you’ve learned?”

Morgana sits up straighter in her chair, looking haughty in a way only she can. “Tell me how to begin,” she commands. Then she addresses Arthur out of the side of her mouth. “You owe me.”

“If you can actually do it,” Arthur goads. “Which, given all the smouldering candle-wicks, I doubt.”

She shoots him a sharp look and then turns her piercing gaze back on Gaius expectantly.

“Close your eyes and clear your mind,” he instructs. “Take deep breaths. In, out. In, out. Good, good,” praises Gaius. “Now search for that feeling again, that feeling of your magic deep inside you. You need to coax it out, like a flower growing from a seed, until it gets bigger and bigger and fills you up from the inside.”

Morgana nods her head, her eyes closed, but her shoulders are still tense.

“Relax and let it happen. Don’t force it. Just encourage it. Breathe in and out, in and out. That’s it. I can see the tension lifting already. Now, can you feel your magic?”

“Yes, I think so,” Morgana responds. She sounds distant, almost trance-like and Arthur can feel a slight tingling sensation in the air.

“Now, I want you to think of Merlin and focus that magic on him. Tell the magic that you want to See him.”

Morgana takes a deep breath and scrunches up her face in concentration. “Merlin, Merlin,” she murmurs under her breath. “Where are you?”

Without warning, she lets out a skull-piercing screech. Her hands fly up to her head and she mutters something unintelligible under her breath. “No, no!” she cries out. Alice bursts into the room, joining Gaius at her side, and lays a gentle hand on Morgana’s arm.

“What’s wrong? Morgana! Morgana, my dear. It’s okay. You’re okay.” She directs the next question to Gaius in a harsh whisper. “What’s happening?”

“We were trying to induce a vision,” Gaius tells her. 

Alice lets out a cry and smacks Gaius on the arm. “You stupid old man. Why would you do that? Look at the poor girl!”

“Morgana, can you open your eyes?” Gaius asks.

Morgana groans and shakes her head.

“Try for me, please. Just for a moment.”

With her hands trembling as she pulls them away, Morgana slowly lifts her head and looks at Gaius. Her eyes burn with a fierce, vibrant gold, and she looks otherworldly. Arthur has a suppress a shiver.

Gaius reaches to take her hands in his. “Morgana, can you tell me what it is that you are seeing?” 

“I— I can see— I can see Merlin,” she says fretfully, in obvious distress. Arthur’s heart clenches in his chest. “There’s something wrong.”

“All right. What is he doing? What is happening?” Gaius asks with an air of serene calm, as though it weren’t his nephew she was talking about.

“He—He…” She shakes her head violently. “I can’t. I can’t!”

Gaius smiles kindly at her. “It’s okay, Morgana. You’re doing so well.”

“So very well, my dear,” Alice chimes in. 

“Remember, Morgana. You are the one who is in control. You _can_ do this.”

Morgana screws her eyes shut, blinkering out the vivid gold. “He’s...he’s in a warehouse, and—and Uncle Agravaine… He’s there. He’s there, too. Merlin’s watching him.”

Arthur thinks he might be sick. His uncle, the same man Merlin had suspected was involved in Blackwater’s dodgy financial dealings, is with Merlin in a warehouse. And Arthur had dismissed his concerns. He’s not sure he wants to hear what is going to happen next. 

“—And there’s another man, too. They’re, they’re having some kind of, kind of fight.”

“And what about Merlin, Morgana?” enquires Gaius.

Arthur doesn’t know how he can be so calm and gentle when all he wants to do is grab Morgana and scream at her to spit it out.

“He’s…” Morgana tilts her head. “He’s okay. Merlin and Agravaine are fighting.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Arthur grips the bridge of his nose and starts to pace again.

“Is there anything else, Morgana? Do you know where they are? Can you see anything that might help?”

“By the— by the water. I warned him! I did! Arthur, tell them I warned you. It’s a warehouse. You need to get there. He has a gun.”

Arthur stalks up to Morgana. “Where is it? Where is Merlin?” He would shake her if he could. As it is, he has to let his voice communicate his anger and frustration, because he can’t _do anything_ stuck as a his is in his ghostly form. Morgana gasps and flounders over her words in a way that just isn’t her. The water, warehouses, and what had she been saying last night? Docks? There aren’t any docks near here, none that Merlin could have got to so quickly. Does she mean the marina, maybe? He knows there is a business park there, set aside from the wealthy residential areas and retail shopping centre.

“I think I might know where they are,” he says, and everyone bar Morgana turns to look at him. “The marina. It’s the only place that makes sense. I have to get down there.”

Gaius shakes his head. “But Arthur, you’re a ghost. Do you honestly expect to be able to do anything? The only person you can touch is Merlin, and I’m still not sure how you managed to do that.”

“Not true, Gaius. I’ve been able to touch other things before—that man in the alleyway, Mordred. I can’t stand by and do nothing whilst Merlin’s life is in danger.”

Morgana cries out, pulling their attention back to her. “Agravaine— he shot him. He shot at— He—Merlin stopped it? I don’t know how but he—”

She screams again. “They hit him. They—they’ve got him.” Morgana’s eyes snap open and she looks directly at Arthur through teary, golden eyes. “You need to save him, Arthur.”

Alice leaves to call the police, and Arthur nods at Morgana. He closes his eyes and focuses fiercely on Merlin, unconscious and helpless in that warehouse. It feels as though he’s tugging on a thread, some kind of strand that stretches between him and Merlin. He gives it a firm pull and lets it tow him along as he feels himself drift away.

It’s only when he feels the the ground beneath his feet again that Arthur opens his eyes and lets go of the thread. It’s not needed now, as he can see Merlin only a short distance away; he’s tied to a post, arms bound behind his back and a rag tied around his mouth. His head lolls to one side, and as Arthur creeps closer he notices that his hair is matted, pressed to the side of his head, and his face is caked in blood.

Those _bastards_. They would pay for this. Arthur would ensure it. Agravaine may be as crooked as they come, and his accomplice must be a slippery, slimy, nasty piece of work, but they will _not_ take Merlin from him. He reaches out to touch Merlin’s face and is pleased to find that he can, although Merlin seems cooler than he had been before. Arthur feels around for a pulse and is relieved when he finds it. Merlin is breathing still, too. Another good sign. If it wasn’t for all the blood he is losing from his head wound, Arthur would say that there is little to concern him in terms of life-threatening injuries.

He cradles Merlin’s face in his hand, pushing the rag down so it hangs around his neck in a ridiculous parody of those stupid hipster scarves Merlin is so fond of. Unable to help himself, Arthur bends in for a kiss. Merlin’s eyes flutter open as he blinks in owlish confusion.

“Arthur? Is that you?”

“Of course it is. This, Merlin, is exactly why we don’t run into things without back-up.”

“How did you find me?” Merlin asks, groggily.

“Morgana had another vision, told us you were at a warehouse with Agravaine and your life was in danger. And I just… I needed to find you, so I did. It’s not important. Look, can you escape at all? Can you slip out of, or loosen the ropes?”

Merlin shakes his head and hisses, trying to push himself to a more upright position. “No, they’re tight.”

“Oh!” says Arthur, with a flash of realisation. “Can’t you magic yourself free, Merlin? Gaius said you’re the most powerful sorcerer he’s ever heard of.”

“Really?” says Merlin curiously. “He said that? I’ve always felt like I was never quite up to his standards.”

“Merlin. Can you do it, or can’t you?

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Of course I can.” His eyes flicker for a moment, but instead of freeing himself, he gives a sharp cry.

“Merlin?” asks Arthur, examining his face closely. 

“S-sorry,” Merlin stutters. “The—the knock to the head. A bit woozy still. My magic—can’t quite…”

“It’s all right, let me try and...” Arthur tugs at the knots, but they’re pulled very tightly. Whoever tied them obviously knew what they were doing. He feels in his pocket for the penknife he always carries on his keychain, and then curses when he remembers that with his ghostly form he doesn’t seem to have anything at all, save for the clothes on his back.

“Are you sure you can’t do it?” Arthur glances around the room, scanning for signs of anyone who might be watching or hanging around nearby. They’re alone for the moment, but there’s no telling when the men who did this will come back to finish the job.

“Let me—let me try again.” Merlin’s eyes flash with gold for a few seconds, and the rope falls to the floor. The sight of them is breathtaking, the way they change from blue to golden and then back to their vivid blue again. So beautiful. Arthur is relieved that it worked, but a part of him wishes that it had lasted longer, or that Merlin would do it again for him. But there’s no time for that now. He wonders where Agravaine and his cronies are. The room Merlin is tied up in seems way too quiet.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on Merlin’s hand. “We need to get moving and get you out of here.”

Merlin tries to get to his feet several times, but fails. He winces and rubs at his legs, waiting for them to get their feeling back. “Sorry, pins and needles,” he says. But eventually he’s able to drag himself up.

They sneak over to the side of the room as quietly as they can, staying close together as they suss out their surroundings. Arthur pokes his head around the corner and unthinkingly sticks his arm out to press Merlin against the wall. Merlin looks down at his hand and then back up at his face with dark eyes, his pupils blown wide, and Arthur can feel the way his chest heaves beneath his hand. His eyes flick down to Merlin’s lips. They’re so full and plush they should be illegal. He swallows loudly. He shouldn’t be thinking the things he’s thinking. Merlin has been injured, and they still need to escape Agravaine’s clutches. He needs to check his libido. But later...He smiles slowly, and Merlin returns the expression, his eyes full of promise.

Finally, Arthur manages to pull himself away from Merlin, scanning the warehouse for any movement. It looks quiet at the moment, but that doesn’t reassure Arthur. Far from it. There should be someone around, shouldn’t there? There are still boxes and crates strewn everywhere and a forklift parked near a pallet rack. Maybe this is some kind of trap, and they’re being watched. Arthur can’t rule it out.

“Have you been unconscious the whole time?” he asks, his eyes still searching.

“No, I woke up once and made a bit of a fuss, so they gagged me and held something under my nose to put me to sleep.”

Arthur shakes his head. That would explain the grogginess when he woke Merlin up.

“These people are dangerous, Merlin. We need to get you out of here before they realise you’re gone. Follow me,” he says over his shoulder. “Keep close to the walls and try to hide if someone comes along.”

He can see Merlin rolling his eyes. “Thanks, I’d never have thought of that.”

“Shut up, you probably have a concussion. Again.” He sees Merlin wince as he feels the back of his head. “Don’t touch that! Now, come on.” 

Arthur can feel Merlin’s presence close behind him as they walk through the main warehouse, and there’s a faint sound from the far end of the building that sends them running to hide behind a crate. 

“So, how did you find me?” Merlin whispers.

“I told you that already.” Arthur looks around the crate to see where the sound might have come from, but it’s quiet again. “Morgana had another vision. Saw you and Agravaine, said you were by the water. And then I just... thought about finding you, and I was here.”

“What, you just... appeared here?” asks Merlin sceptically.

Arthur sighs. It’s so typical of Merlin to want to have an in-depth conversation about Arthur’s newfound abilities whilst they’re still in danger. “Yes. I wanted to be here to help you and I just... it was like a piece of string; I followed it to you.”

“I don’t…?”

“Look, now really isn’t the time, all right? I’ll try and explain later.”

“All right, yeah. We should get out first.” Merlin agrees. Finally! That’s the first sensible thing he’s said since Arthur found him. “The loading bay is over there.” He points. “But I didn’t turn up here just to run. I want to make sure we have enough proof to put these guys away for good. Oh God!” Without warning, Merlin curses loudly.

“Shh!”

“Sorry,” apologises Merlin. “Look, Arthur. There’s something you need to know. It’s about your Uncle Agravaine...”

“Yeah, I know. He threatened you, and he tried to shoot you. I’m sorry. I mean, he’s always been a bit of a creep, but I never thought he was a criminal, or that he would have the nerve to fire a gun at you.”

Merlin looks at him, his eyes big and glistening. “Arthur, that’s okay. It’s not your fault. But you need to know, Agravaine—when I got here, I hid in the warehouse, and I heard him talking with Cenred.”

“Cenred!” exclaims Arthur. “He’s here too?”

“Yes. They’re moving all this stuff out and Agravaine is quitting this little operation. He…” Merlin pauses and huffs out a deep sigh through his nose. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this, so I might as well just say it. _He_ was the one who killed you, Arthur.”

If he weren’t a ghost, Arthur wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from throwing up. His uncle, _his own uncle_ , had hated him enough to want him dead. His mother’s brother. His last living relative on his mother’s side had wanted to kill him. He bites his lip as he realises with horror that he’s close to tears.

“Hey,” comes Merlin’s soft voice, and his hand, gentle and warm and solid, slips into Arthur’s, giving it a squeeze. “I’m so, so sorry. But you had to know the truth.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Arthur nods and turns away from Merlin to swipe his sleeve across his face. They sit there, hidden by the crate, sides pressed against each other as Arthur just closes his eyes for a moment and tries to relax and forget. It makes sense now, thinking back on things. Agravaine has always played hot and cold with him, acting supportive and kind one moment and then yanking the rug from under him the next. Telling him the stories that he’d craved about his mother and their siblings when they were growing up, and then being standoffish with him when Arthur asked if he thought she would be proud of him and his decisions. Agravaine had always been friendly towards Uther, too. Too friendly. Like a snake—venomous, dangerous, and biding his time. Arthur guesses he knows now why he’d always felt uneasy about the way Agravaine had sailed back into his life. Especially after his estrangement from his father, which, now he comes to think about it, Agravaine seemed to know an awful lot about without Arthur having mentioned it. Had he been played all along? Had he been so desperate to have a connection to his mother that he’d overlooked all the things that would have normally set alarm bells ringing?

Arthur had welcomed his uncle into his life with open arms, and all this time Agravaine had been laughing into his sleeve. It must have brought him great joy to see how stupid his nephew was.

“Why does he hate me?” Arthur finds himself asking.

Merlin remains silent for a while, and then he clears his throat. “I don’t think he hates you, per se. I think… I think he hates the fact that you remind him of your mother, yet you’re Uther’s son, too. I think that he took advantage of your kindness.”

Arthur looks over at Merlin, and Merlin is staring at him with so much love and devotion that Arthur’s heart clenches in his chest. He’s not sure he even remembers how to think, let alone talk, but he tries anyway.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin smiles at him and moves his head closer to Arthur’s, his eyes flicking down to Arthur’s lips and lingering there, as though he’s unsure of his welcome, even though Arthur would have thought that was obvious by now. He leans closer too, and he can feel the warmth of Merlin’s breath against his lips as he exhales across the gap between them and then Merlin’s lips are pressing against his. Arthur lets himself melt into it, easily drawn into a world where it’s just him and Merlin and no one else. Merlin is a great kisser. He never expected that, but it’s true. At the back of his mind he knows that they’ve a job to do here, that he needs to focus. But he also needs this. He needs Merlin by his side. He grounds Arthur and makes him human again.

“I still can’t believe my uncle would do this to me,” says Arthur sadly.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin presses himself against Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur looks down at his hands. “I just don’t understand why. First my father decides he likes the idea of a perfect son better than the one he already has, and then Uncle Agravaine goes so far as to actually plan my death.”

“It’s not your fault Arthur. You have a good heart. Some people just take advantage of that.”

Arthur hmphs.

”So,” suggests Merlin, “Shall we get the evidence we need to put the bastard away for good? I already recorded his confession on my phone. They took it, though.”

“Oh, yes we should. Do you think we can get it back from them?”

“Could do. But I always back up. It’s in my cloud, and it’s password protected. I still think we should have a look and see if we can find any physical evidence to connect them to your death...” Merlin has knowing look in his eye that says he knows exactly what he’s looking for, and Arthur tilts his head curiously at him. Merlin sighs. “Last night Morgana said they had hidden something here, remember? Did she say anything else this morning?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. In fact, she couldn’t even remember calling us last night. That’s why Gaius questioned her so closely when she had her vision. It seems like she can’t always recall the specifics when she comes back to herself.”

Merlin hums to himself and mutters under his breath. “So what have they hidden that would be so important to your murder?”

Arthur jolts suddenly. “Do we know who cut my brakes? That might help”

Arthur watches as Merlin frowns down at his hands folded in his lap. 

“I don’t know. Maybe they paid a professional. Oh!” says Merlin, his head shooting up.

“What?”

“Cenred!” Merlin exclaims.

“You think it was Cenred?”

“When I was with him, the second time I visited, he asked me if I liked bikes. Motorcycles. He said it was a shame when I didn’t, because he had a bike he’d been fixing up that I’d look perfect on. I’d say he’d definitely know his way around a car. And it was his party, but remember how he didn’t turn up until pretty late? Morgause was there for ages, and then he showed up as you went off with her. He led me away from the party, probably hoping you’d go home on your own. Oh, shit. I knew he was offering too much money for the case! I just thought it was because he was famous and liked throwing money at problems. Oh fuck. Arthur, _he_ was the one who hired us. _He_ was the one who invited us to the party, and he and Agravaine are obviously in this art and money laundering business together. I mean, the man has a Van Gogh hanging up in his house for crying out loud! Some detectives we are.”

It makes sense, Arthur has to admit. They had been played. He had walked right into his own death. Willingly. He was too trusting. Despite knowing how awful they could be, despite the ugliness they had seen in their investigations, Arthur had still believed in the goodness at the heart of people. And ultimately, that is what led him to his death. He yanks on his own hair and chews his lip.

“I... Should we have done something differently? I mean, we practically did their dirty work for them, because we trusted them. We believed they were genuine,” Arthur asks, knowing he can trust Merlin to give him an honest answer.

“No, Arthur. We did the right thing, I think. We had no reason to doubt that Cenred was genuine; spouses cheat on each other all the time. We both know that. Famous people are no different. I mean, my gut feeling was always that Morgause was innocent. A bit flirty and over the top with the people she wanted to schmooze, maybe. But I didn’t get the impression that she was the cheating type. But we know that innocent people have been accused of cheating before. Remember Sophia? Now, where would they hide them? Where would _I_ hide something like that?”

“I’d put them in a crate with something. And then send it far away,” comments Arthur.

“Great. So they’re long gone, then?”

“Not necessarily. Not if Morgana says they’re still here," replies Arthur.

“Good point,” Merlin agrees. “So where do we start looking? Cenred isn’t as smart as Agravaine. If it was down to him to get rid of the tools, he might still have them lying around the place. We should have a quick look here and then go straight to his place." Merlin starts to get up off of the floor, to start their search.

“We should call the police,” says Arthur. They really should. Merlin has been shot at and hit, and this isn’t something they can just take care of by themselves anymore.

“No phone, remember?”

“When we get out then.”

There’s a laugh between them and the clicking sound of a gun being cocked.

“Don’t move, Mr Emrys. I don’t know what you are, or how you escaped, or indeed, who you are talking to. But I do know that even you likely can’t escape from a bullet that’s centimeters from burying itself in your skull.”

Merlin freezes, and his eyes meet Arthur’s, wide and frightened, as Agravaine looms behind him. He slowly raises his hands up in the air in a gesture of surrender, and Agravaine presses the gun more firmly into Merlin’s head, making him wince.

“Go around the crate and walk forward,” says Agravaine, grabbing Merlin’s arm and twisting it behind him as he shoves him forward. Merlin hisses with pain and stumbles as he’s knocked off balance. “And no funny business. Or else.”

“Or else what?” Merlin retorts, and Arthur sighs and rubs his face with his hand.

_“Yes, Merlin. Go ahead and antagonise the man holding a gun to your head, why don’t you.”_

Merlin shoots him a sharp look.

“Or else my warehouse will soon be decorated with whatever brain cells you pretend to possess. Honestly, Merlin. How you and that nephew of mine ever thought you could be play detectives…” Agravaine laughs heartily. “Now, come on. I have to figure out what we’re going to do with you. Maybe Cenred will take you off my hands. He seems strangely fond of you.”

Arthur can see the way Merlin shudders at the thought of being Cenred’s plaything, and Arthur watches, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Over my dead body,” Merlin grits out.

“Oh, that can be arranged,” smirks Agravaine.

“Yeah, you’re good at murdering people,” Merlin bites back.

Agravaine throws back his head with a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh, Merlin. You are very funny. I must admit, when I first met you, I wondered why on earth Arthur would be friends with such a simpleton. But I underestimated you. You’re actually extremely clever, and excellent at deception. Are you sure you’re not in need of a new job, now that Arthur is gone?”

“Get fucked,” spits Merlin and then he cries out in pain as Agravaine viciously pushes his forearm further up his back, bending it in an almost impossible angle.

“At least tell me how you did that that trick with the bullet, if you’re going to decline my job offer so savagely.”

Merlin smirks, with a humorous glint in his eye as he makes eye contact with Arthur. “Magic,” he says.

Agravaine just tuts and shoves him through the open office door, pulling it closed behind them. “Fine, keep your juvenile little secrets.” 

Arthur pushes his way through the wall and walks over to Merlin. _“Don’t worry,”_ he whispers in his ear. _“I won’t let them hurt you.”_

Merlin rolls his eyes at him, not able to reply due to Agravaine’s presence, but the look on his face says it all.

The door opens, and they all turn and look. Cenred strolls in. “Ah, there you are. I see you found our errant little Hylas.” Agravaine looks at him, confused. “Woodhouse, Agravaine. Honestly, I can see why you left the paintings to me. You’d be buying complete shit and selling the valuable stuff for pennies. I came to tell you that the first truck is leaving and the second shouldn’t be too much longer. We can leave the rest. It’s just low value, legally obtained goods. Nothing that can be pinned on us.” 

Cenred comes to sit in the chair and swings his legs up onto the desk, crossing them and folding his arms behind his head, the casual bastard.

“So, what’s your plan to deal with him, then.” He nods over at Merlin.

“At first, I thought I might let you keep him,” says Agravaine lightly, and Cenred’s face lights up.

“But?”

“But he knows too much and is far too nosey. I can’t trust that he won’t escape and alert the authorities, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to go to jail because a snot-nosed kid barely out of uni. I think we ought to make sure that he mets the same fate as my nephew did. But not here—it’s too messy. Down by the water, then we can let the current carry his body downstream.”

Arthur gasps, feeling himself fill with a hot, burning rage. Over his actual dead body will he let Agravaine kill Merlin. He barrels straight towards his uncle, intending to tackle him to the ground, but he passes straight through Agravaine with no resistance whatsoever and stumbles onto the floor.

 _“Fuck!”_ he exclaims, picking himself up. _“Those fucking bastards. They’re going to kill you!”_

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Merlin laughs. Is he insane? Laughing at someone when they’re holding a gun against your head is a terrible move. “I doubt you two clowns could kill a fly. Not without setting up a trap and then walking away like the cowards you are.” And he stamps down hard on Agravaine’s foot.

Agravaine roars with pain and smacks Merlin across the face angrily with his pistol. Merlin cries out, backing away from them both as Agravaine stalks towards him until he has him pressed flat against the wall. “You will regret that, you little shit,” Agravaine says, his eyes glittering dangerously.

“Ooh, I like him. He’s feisty,” Cenred chimes in with a smile. He is obviously enjoying the proceedings immensely.

Merlin cradles his injured cheek with one hand and reaches out the other, hand open and palm facing forward in a gesture that screams ‘back the fuck off’. “Be careful.”

Agravaine looks at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Merlin grimaces and swallows hard. “I’m warning you.”

Shaking his head with amusement Agravaine continues his advancement. Merlin dips his head, but nothing happens.

Agravaine laughs. “Was that? Your little warning is to nod at me? You’re more pathetic than I thought.”

Merlin raises his head and glares at Agravaine with so much hate that it scares Arthur a bit, and before Arthur can even realise it, Merlin has sent Agravaine sailing through the air with a flash of his eyes. He lands with a smack against the wooden desk, now thoroughly disarmed. Cenred hurries to back away, staring at Merlin, who is swaying on his feet, in horror.

“Your eyes!” he exclaims. “You didn’t even touch him!” Then he whispers. “Just like my Morgause.”

There’s a groan from the floor as Agravaine hoists himself up. “What kind of witchcraft was that?” he asks looking from Cenred to Merlin in confusion. “Are you sure you’re not interested in a partnership? Imagine all we could achieve together, my smarts, your... power and Cenred’s... well, someone has to do the grunt work, don’t they?” 

“Hey!” Cenred objects. “Look, just shoot the freak and let’s get out of here. We’ll make up alibis and get rid of the guns. Job done. I don’t know why I ever agreed to help off that nephew of yours in the first place. It’s been nothing but trouble ever since with the police and this one sniffing around. Look,” he says, slipping his hand around behind his back. “I’ll do this one for you too!”

Fuck, thinks Arthur, realising that Cenred is also carrying a gun. And he isn’t messing around; before Arthur can so much as blink, he’s aiming the gun at Merlin’s head and cocking the trigger. Arthur finds himself dashing towards him before he even realises it, and this time he manages to knock Cenred off balance. His gun goes skittering across the floor, finally coming to a stop at Merlin’s feet. He quickly picks it up and aims it at Agravaine. Arthur’s doubts that Merlin has ever even seen a gun up close, much less knows how to use one. It’s never anything they’ve ever considered needing for their jobs.

“Put your hands up,” Merlin orders, with a slight tremor in his voice. 

“What the fuck was that?” exclaims Cenred, looking around anxiously as he slowly raises his hands. “Someone pushed me over!”

“Of course they did,” says Agravaine, rolling his eyes sarcastically. “It couldn’t possibly be because you’re a clumsy, incompetent fool! I should never have left you and Valiant in charge of securing the boy.” He turns towards Merlin, and his voice turns soft and friendly. “Now, Merlin. There’s no need to be pointing that gun at anyone, is there? Why don’t you be a good lad and put the gun down so that we can talk?”

Cenred disarmed and suitably spooked, Arthur turns towards the window, sure that he had just heard something from outside. He sticks his head through the wall to look, and hurriedly turns back to the room to tell Merlin the good news.

“The police are here,” he says.

“Oh Gods, thank fuck for that,” replies Merlin, lowering his weapon. Arthur doubts he was willing to ever fire it in the first place.

Cenred and Agravaine both look at him, puzzled.

“Oh yeah, sorry gentlemen,” says Merlin with a wide grin, realising that Cenred and Agravaine still don’t know what’s going on, “but your little game is over.”

Cenred shoots Agravaine a panicked look and he rushes over to the window, slowly pulling down on one of the slats of the blind. His eyes scan the warehouse.

“Shit!” he exclaims angrily, banging a fist against the wall as he lets the slat go. “You!” he rages, his cheeks flushing an violent red. He lunges for Merlin, a look of pure murderous rage on his face.

“No, Merlin!” yells Arthur, spotting a glint of metal in Agravaine’s hand. 

He runs towards Merlin and wraps his arms around the waist, toppling them both to the ground just as Agravaine’s knife comes whistling through the air. It passes through Arthur completely and catches Merlin in the thigh. Merlin gasps in pain, grasping at his leg, and Agravaine wrenches the knife out viciously before raising it again. With one hand pressed against his gushing wound, Merlin holds his other hand out, ready to send Agravaine flying with a thought. He looks angry and his face is pale, the fury in his gaze tinged with pain from his stab wound. Arthur grinds his teeth together and just goes for it, catching his uncle square in the jaw and knocking him clean off balance. The bastard.

The door bursts opens. “This is the police. Put your hands up where we can see them!”

Several armed police officers pour into the room, fixing their weapons on Agravaine, Cenred, and Merlin.

Arthur is still staring at his fist, wondering just how he’d managed to smack his uncle like that, as Merlin tries to raise his hands in the air, taking the pressure off his leg wound like an idiot. Arthur rolls his eyes. Merlin is such a self-sacrificing half-wit sometimes; he’d rather risk is own life by failing to stem the blood flow than disobey a police order when he’s obviously the victim here. Arthur looks down at Merlin’s wound, intending to encourage him to put pressure on it again, but when he examines it more closely he realises that instead of a proper knife wound that is spouting blood, it looks like a deep scratch that’s merely bleeding a little. Nothing like what it had been like before, Arthur is sure of it. He looks up at Merlin in wonder, and Merlin smiles at him and gives him a wink.

Arthur shakes his head and looks again. How had Merlin done that? He’d been panicked that Merlin might die from blood loss moments ago and now he’s barely injured at all.

Another police officer enters the room. Arthur recognises her immediately; she’s DS Godwin, the woman who came to see Merlin in the office about Arthur’s murder.

“All right, MacKenzie, lower your weapon. He’s the victim. Those two,” she points at Cenred and Agravaine, “are the ones we’re after.” The officer who had his gun aimed at Merlin lowers it, and she strides over to Cenred and Agravaine with another officer following her close behind. “Agraine duBois and Cenred King, I am placing you under arrest for possession of an illegal firearm and assault with a deadly weapon. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do or say may be given in evidence.”

“You have no right to arrest me! I’ve done nothing wrong!” yells Agravaine indignantly.

“Mr duBois, I am an officer of the law. If you resist arrest, I will and am legally allowed to use reasonable force to restrain you. It’s in your best interests if you comply and come along quietly,” the detective says calmly, reaching for her handcuffs.

“Where’s a phone? I want to speak with my solicitor _immediately_. You have no right to arrest me like this!”

DS Godwin raises an eyebrow, and everyone else in the room looks at him in disbelief—even Cenred.

“Fine. But I won’t say anything without my solicitor,” Agravaine says with a toss of his head, holding out his arms. The officer moves forward swiftly and cuffs him. “And I’ll have your badge for this!”

Another officer restrains Cenred. He goes quietly without a fuss, no doubt contemplating the damage this is going to cause to his music career once it all gets out. Once the villains have both been lead away, DS Godwin approaches Merlin.

“Merlin,” she says, offering him a hand to pull him up. “Are you okay? I was so worried when we got the call. We got here as soon as we could.” 

Merlin manages a grin and uses her arm to steady himself. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he reassures her. She frowns as she looks at where his hand is still clasping hers, noticing they are both covered in blood.

“You’re bleeding! Let me get the paramedics!” She reaches for her radio.

Merlin stills her hand with his. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Honestly, Detective.”

“You need your head checked over, you idiot,” says Arthur. “It’s bleeding again.”

“Oh,” Merlin replies, touching his head with his hand and looking at the fresh blood. “Right. I might have a bit of a concussion.”

DS Godwin sighs and radios for help, and they all take one more look at the room before they leave behind this insanity for a cool, blissfully calm evening outside.

Merlin sits on the step at the back of the ambulance, wrapped up in a silver blanket. His head wound has been cleaned and tended to, so he sits there quietly trying to wrap his mind around everything that has happened. He’s been knocked unconscious, shot at, threatened and stabbed. He’s also found out that Arthur’s own uncle plotted to kill him, just to get the money that was due to come to Arthur. His head swirls with it all, and he’s grateful that he’s finally been left in peace with Arthur, who is sitting equally contemplative by his side. They both watch as the police hurry to and fro, cordoning off the area. Agravaine and Cenred were driven off a while ago, and Merlin imagines that they’ve already been booked in at the police station while detectives—actual, proper detectives—have begun putting together a list of charges to book them with. The beginning of many, he’s sure. He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. It’s a bit unbelievable really. Had someone told him how his day was going to turn out, he wouldn’t have believed them.

Only, well, someone had told him, hadn’t they? Morgana had called in the middle of the night with that warning. He ought to have taken her more seriously, and they certainly shouldn’t have split up today. But then again, if they hadn’t, they wouldn’t have found all of this out, and Agravaine might have ended up getting away with murder.

Merlin is the first to break the silence.

“What a night, huh?” he asks Arthur, jokingly. 

Arthur glances over at him, but instead of smiling as Merlin expects, he looks drained and distressed. “Merlin. You could have died. Several times. I just… It might be selfish of me, but I don’t want to lose you. If I lost you… I—” Arthur’s face crumples, and he pulls Merlin into a hug so tight it squeezes the air from his lungs. “Please don’t leave me, Merlin,” he whispers. 

Merlin clings to him, hugging him back. “I’m not going anywhere, Arthur. I promise.” He presses his face into Arthur’s neck and has to take a few deep, gulping breaths to stop himself from bursting into tears. As ever, Arthur has broken straight through the mental barrier he’s built up between himself and the trauma that he’d experienced tonight, leaving him emotionally raw. He knows he’s safe here with Arthur. Nothing can harm them at this moment, when it’s just the two of them, just like Merlin has craved for so long. He hasn’t really had the time to process the change in their relationship, what with everything that has been going on; being together, being wanted by Arthur and having him care so openly for him, is all so new, and so comforting that he struggles to keep from falling apart.

As the adrenaline and excitement start to wear off, the aches and pains creep in. Merlin starts to feel his head throbbing in time with his heart, and his leg still stings where he was stabbed, even if he has healed the majority of the damage.

Arthur slides a hand into his hair, and Merlin finds himself melting into his touch. He needs this so badly tonight, and he hadn’t even realised it until Arthur had almost broken down himself and drawn him into this long embrace. Arthur pulls back and smiles at him. Merlin knows him well enough to know that he’s trying his best to suppress his feelings. Normally, one of them would make a joke at this point, and then they’d laugh off their emotional moment. Exposing their feelings and allowing each other to see is a new, not altogether comfortable experience, and Merlin wouldn’t blame Arthur if he chose that moment to pull away again.

Instead, however, he tugs Merlin towards him again and closes his lips over Merlin’s in a kiss. His lips are almost warm, soft against his, and Merlin kisses him back fiercely, putting all his fears and anxiety and desperate relief into the kiss. When they part this time, foreheads pressed against each other, Merlin stares into Arthur’s eyes and swallows at the look that Arthur is giving him. He wants to say it, the thing he has longed to say to Arthur for so long now. But it’s too soon for something so huge, he thinks. And he doesn’t want to fuck this up.

“Let me say it for you, then,” says Arthur, and Merlin realises he must have said that part out loud. “I love you, Merlin.” He smiles, and Merlin flushes. How can Arthur say it so easily, so casually? As if it’s not a big deal. When it _is_ a big deal. Arthur’s grin grows bigger as he watches him flounder. “This is the part where you tell me you love me, too.”

“I do. I do love you. You know that I do. I always have,” Merlin replies, not even bothering to deny it.

Arthur kisses him again, slow and sweet, stroking his face. “To think we could have been separated again before we’d said it. I don’t know how I could have borne that.”

“I’m sure you’d have managed somehow.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, I need you, Merlin. I didn’t realise that before, but I do now. I think it scared me, when we were together before. It scared me just how much I felt for you, and I couldn’t deal with it. I don’t think that I was ready. But I’m ready now.” 

Merlin stumbles forward as Arthur slips abruptly from his arms, shifting into a smokey, ethereal form before he disappears from view, and possibly even from the very fabric of existence for all Merlin knows. He falls to the ground, jarring his knees with excruciating pain. 

“Arthur?” he calls, frantic. “Arthur!”

He manages to pull himself to his feet, realising that his yelling has attracted a bit of attention. Whispering a few words, he lifts the handbrake in a nearby police car, and as the car starts to slowly roll down the road, people shout and rush to stop it, taking the attention off of Merlin completely. He uses the moment to slip away unseen, leaving only the silver foil blanket behind him as he rushes off to find Arthur. He has a good idea where Arthur might be.

Merlin leans against a lamppost, breathing hard and cursing Agravaine soundly in his head. No phone, no money, no keys. All of them were lost or taken from him at some point during his capture. He has no choice but to make his way to the graveyard on foot. At least he’s pretty sure that’s where Arthur is going to be. It’s where he found him last time, after all. When he’s finally caught his breath, he starts to jog again, his head pounding. He has to keep going. He has to know for sure. He uses all the shortcuts he knows in order to make the journey as short as possible, but with all the excitement and his injuries, he’s exhausted, he’s out of breath, and the fact that it’s cold, dark and drizzling isn’t helping. He slows down to walk, unable to go any faster. The longer the journey takes, the harder it becomes to hold back the curling tendril of fear that’s coiling around his heart. What if Arthur isn’t there? What if he has passed through the veil and is gone forever?

He shakes his head, trying to shake loose the thoughts. The rain is pouring now, pounding down on him from the sky, plastering his hair to his head and dripping from his face. He needs to get to the graveyard. He will face whatever happens once he gets there. He pushes onwards through the weather and the darkness and the pain. His feet splash through puddles, his shoes are soaked through making an unpleasant squishing noise as he walks. Cars drive past him, their engines a dull roar, their headlights reflecting in the water on the road, but Merlin barely notices them. He focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. He needs to get there. He needs to get to Arthur.

Just a bit further. Just a bit longer. He’ll be there soon.

Finally, Merlin stumbles through the gates, the church looming over him in the inky black night. He walks in amongst the headstones, making his way towards the plot where Arthur was buried. It’s disorientating at night, and difficult to see. Merlin wishes it weren’t so cloudy; at least then he’d have a bit of moonlight to guide him. He shivers. He’s always been a bit scared of graveyards in the dark, in spite of the things he has seen. He still feels the same chill of terror at the thought of ghosts and goodness knows what else walking around a place like this at night.

With a nervous laugh, he realises that’s actually exactly what he’s hoping to find here tonight. But not just any ghost. He wants to find Arthur. 

Merlin is still trying to locate Arthur’s grave when the clouds slowly drift apart, and the graveyard is illuminated by moonlight, the headstones now standing out in stark contrast against the grassy paths. He heart skips a beat as he looks up at it and realises that the moon is full. Arthur’s time is up! He speeds up, as he tries to makes his way towards where Arthur was buried as soon as possible and then kneels beside his headstone. Maybe there’s still a chance that he’s here. That it’s not too late. They didn’t even get to say goodbye.

“Come on, Arthur,” he murmurs. He lets his fingers trace the letters of Arthur’s name and focuses his thoughts on him, hoping with all his might that Arthur will appear the way he did before. He waits, eyes closed, knelt on the soft mud that surrounds Arthur’s burial place. The place is silent, except for the faint sound of rain and a soft wind that whistles through the churchyard. Merlin pushes out with all of his senses, magic included, desperately searching for some trace of Arthur. He can feel the magic that is all around him, in the earth beneath his knees, in the air that he breathes, in the trees and insects and every blade of grass, all quietly thrumming with life.

But there is no Arthur.

Merlin bows his head. He had been so sure he would find Arthur here. If he’s not here, and Merlin cannot feel him, then it can only mean one thing. Arthur has crossed the veil. A lone tear rolls down his face. Arthur is gone.

Arthur is quite fed up with being snatched up by fate’s whim and spat out here. He squints his eyes and tries to adjust to the blinding light. It doesn’t get any easier.

“Mother!” he calls out, wasting no time. “Are you here? I wish to talk with you.”

There is no answer.

With nowhere else to go, he steps forward, his eyes peeled for any changes in the landscape around him. He can’t help but feel like he’s being watched. As if this is a test of some sort. He startles as he walks into some kind of cloth, invisible to the naked eye. He runs his hands over it. It’s cool and smooth like silk. He parts the curtain and cautiously pokes his head through to see what is there.

“Ah, Mr Pendragon,” says an old man standing on the other side. “Welcome. We have been expecting you for a while.”

“What is this?” Arthur asks, confused. He feels like there is something he should be seeing that he’s not and it makes him more careful than he usually is. “Why have you been waiting?”

“This is the afterlife, Arthur. We have been waiting for you to be ready, of course,” the man tells him.

Arthur takes him in. Much like himself and his mother, the man is dressed completely in white. Part and parcel of being dead, he supposes. But this man’s outfit is far more eccentric than his own. Perhaps it’s supposed to be a reflection of their personalities? The man is wearing a white trench coat that moves with him and lace-up boots that come up to his knees. He has a double-breasted white waistcoat under the jacket and a thick woolen scarf looped around his neck. Arthur’s suit makes him feel underdressed and rather straight-laced in comparison.

“I don’t understand,” Arthur says.

The man glares at him with yellow, almost reptilian eyes. He brings a cigarette to his lips and puffs on it.

“Tonight is a full moon,” says the man. Smoke trickles from his mouth and nostrils.

Arthur looks up as if expecting to see it. “Oh, so am I out of time?”

“You tell me, young man. Do you have any unfinished business?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, considering no one will tell me what it is!”

“Are there any pieces of your life left unresolved? Do you have any regrets, or things to put right?” the man asks helpfully.

“No. We solved my murder before the moon rose.”

“Then you should be able to pass.”

Arthur narrows his eyes at him. “If I cross, can I come back? Am I free to pass back and forth?”

The man shakes his head. “You must make a choice, Mr Pendragon. You can move on to the afterlife and see what is beyond the veil. Or you may stay where you are. But be warned, if you chose to move on, there is no coming back, and if you chose to stay there is no moving on. You will be able to come no further than where we stand. So choose carefully.”

Arthur rubs at his chin. “How long do I have to decide?” he asks. 

The old man smiles at him, his teeth shiny and sharp. “Until the moon starts to wane.”

“Very well,” agrees Arthur. “If those are the terms, I will consider them and return here at that time if I wish to move on, if I wish to stay I will not. I trust that is acceptable to you?”

“It is agreeable, young Pendragon.” The man takes another drag of his cigarette.

Arthur frowns at him. “Well, are you going to return me then?”

The man glowers at him and flicks his wrist carelessly. Arthur is sent toppling, as though he’s had a swift kick to the behind, and he lands, face down in a puddle of mud.

Arthur staggers to his feet. The water and mud pour straight through him, leaving him as pristine as ever. He’s under the tree again, and as he stares out across the dimly lit landscape around him, Merlin turns his head and a grin spreads across his face.

“Arthur!” he yells, getting up and running towards him. “Arthur! You’re back!” He draws Arthur into a big hug, and as he feels the warmth of Merlin’s body enclose him, Arthur closes his eyes and just lets himself be held. Merlin’s hand slides up his back and into his hair, and Arthur feels the way he’s trembling against him.

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m here, Merlin.”

“I thought I’d lost you,” Merlin whispers against his neck. “You disappeared, and I thought you were gone for good.”

Arthur holds Merlin closer and takes a moment just to feel him. He had thought he was gone for good too. And depending on his choice tonight, he could very well be. The idea of leaving Merlin and never being able to talk to, hold or love him ever again makes him shudder. He doesn’t want to think about it. But he must.

“Arthur?” asks Merlin, pulling away and eyeing him cautiously. “What’s wrong?” Arthur hesitates. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. _Please_ don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

Arthur swallows and closes his eyes to protect himself from Merlin’s face, his kind, questioning eyes, the sympathetic fold in his brow and the tentative set of his lips.

“I have to choose,” he says simply. He’s never been one to shy away from big decisions when they need to be made, but this is so important. It will affect the rest of both their lives. If he stays, he’s here, in this world forever, however long that might be. Until the end of the earth? Until the end of human existence? How long would he be doomed to walk the earth for? And is he willing to do this for a single lifetime with Merlin? If he chooses to cross the veil, though, that’s it for them. He goes and moves on, and Merlin is left behind to pick up the pieces of his life. He doesn’t know which choice is right.

“Choose what?”

Arthur opens his eyes and stoically keeps it together as he says, “I—I have to choose whether I want to stay here with you, or to cross the veil.” 

Merlin’s eyebrows meet his fringe. “Well, you have to go, Arthur. How can you even think that there’s a choice? You passed away and you deserve to be able to move on.” Merlin swallows and looks away. “It doesn’t matter how we feel.”

Arthur forces Merlin to look at him. “Don’t you dare say that, Merlin. Of course it matters. It’s a choice. We always have a choice.”

“Arthur,” protests Merlin, his eyes shining with tears. “You can’t stay here, surely you can see that.”

“I can do whatever I damn well please,” Arthur insists.

“If you’re going to stay, it should be because of more than—” Merlin gestures between them both. “—us. Yes, we would have more time together. But—but after I die, then what would you do? Once I cross the veil, all the books say there’s no coming back. I would never see you again.”

“My mother—”

“Your mother was able to come and meet you, but she couldn’t pass over to this world, Arthur,” Merlin is quick to point out.

“But, if I _did_ go, maybe we could still meet somehow. Is there anything—are there any books that…?”

Merlin doesn’t reply, but looks away uncomfortably. It’s first hesitation he’s shown this whole conversation.

“There are!” Arthur realises. Merlin looks back at him, reluctant to speak. “You’ve seen them.”

“I’ve heard of things,” Merlin corrects him. “I’ve heard about objects and places and the right spell. But the rituals are complicated and require great skill. I want you at peace, I don’t want to summon you. I want you to rest.”

“I could stay then, and be with you!” says Arthur, exasperated.

“You know that I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life with you,” says Merlin earnestly. “I want to be with you until the day I die. But not like this. Not if it means that _I’ll_ be the one who ends up leaving _you_ behind for all eternity. I won’t let that happen.”

Arthur huffs out a breath. “So what do we do then? I’m not going to leave you, Merlin. Not when we finally figured things out. I don’t want to.”

“Arthur…” says Merlin warningly and pulls himself away from Arthur’s touch.

Arthur reaches for his wrist and holds on. “You don’t seem to get it. I want this. I said it was a choice, and this is what I choose.” He tilts his chin up and puffs out his chest a little, buoyed by his own words. “As you would spend your entire life with me, I want to spend what time I can with you. If that means spending one lifetime with you, and hundreds, even thousands, of lifetimes without you, then that is what I will do.”

Merlin looks at him, flabbergasted, his mouth open. “But you can’t—”

Arthur swoops in and silences Merlin with a kiss. It’s messy and desperate and their teeth clash before Merlin grasps at the lapels of Arthur’s suit and reels him in. Arthur slots so perfectly and comfortably against him, Merlin’s legs either side of his, welcoming him into his personal space. Merlin’s hands smooth their way up Arthur’s chest and up to his face, where Merlin’s long, soft fingers stroke Arthur’s cheeks and he moans into their kiss. Arthur lets Merlin lead, allows himself to get lost in the feel of his lips and tongue, the way that Merlin sucks on Arthur’s lower lip and nibbles for a moment before his tongue returns to lick into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur’s knees buckle and he feels Merlin’s arms slide down to his waist to steady him, then finally he pulls away, eyes huge, lips dark and swollen.

“Arthur,” he pants. “Arthur, you can’t—”

Arthur presses another teasing kiss to Merlin’s lips, and Merlin tries to pull away.

“Arthur!” he scolds. “You can’t just—” Arthur kisses him again, “just—” and again, “kiss me and—” then again, “and expect me to stop—”

Arthur swallows Merlin’s words as he kisses him again, and this time he takes the lead. His tongue chasing Merlin’s in a battle for dominance, he wraps one hand around the back of Merlin’s neck and his other arm around Merlin’s waist. And it feels so right. It feels like this is how it’s meant to be, for however long they can stay together. In this moment, he knows that it will be worth the sacrifice of remaining here. There’s nowhere else Arthur would rather be.

A small, blinding light appears beneath the tree, growing slowly from a narrow pinprick into something much larger. Startled, Merlin pulls away from their kiss to look.

“Arthur, what is that?”

They both stare at it, and the air all around them feels as though is thrumming with energy.

“I’ve seen it before,” explains Arthur. “It’s the way to the void.”

Merlin chews on his lower lip, and his face goes through a myriad of expressions, from fright, to confusion, to curiosity, to bemusement, before finally settling on disbelief. 

“Walk into the light? Really?” His lips twitch as though he’s suppressing a laugh, and he shakes his head. “Unbelievable.” Then he nods at the light and slips his hand into Arthur’s, squeezing gently. “You need to go,” he says softly.

Arthur looks down at Merlin’s hand in his, and then up at the light. He already knows what he needs to do. He belongs here, with Merlin. They complete each other. He hadn’t been able to see it whilst he was alive, too busy denying his feelings and trying to fit in. But that feeling of happiness and contentment whenever they were together—deep down, that had always been there. There was a reason they’d been such inseparable friends, almost from the moment that they had met. 

“I’m right where I want to be,” he says. “Where I belong.”

There’s a sudden whoosh and a golden thread flashes between them, hot with power, so bright that it has Arthur closing his eyes against it. Then the light from the void flickers and the air starts to vibrate, the ground shuddering as the light starts to shrink down on itself. Smaller and smaller… 

“No!” Merlin cries, and he wrenches his hand free of Arthur’s to chase the shrinking light. Arthur reaches out and grabs at him. The stupid idiot—Arthur doesn’t know what he thinks that he’s doing by chasing it.

“Merlin,” he calls. Merlin turns and looks at him with anguished eyes. “Merlin, I told you, I know what I want, all right? And I want a life with you—”

The light disappears with a small pop, and all of a sudden the vibrations and energy in the air are gone. Merlin shoots him an exasperated look. “Life?” 

Arthur rolls his eyes and throws up his hands in the air, making a noise of protest as he takes the point.

“An afterlife then,” he corrects himself. “I want the best _afterlife_ we can have together. Now, I know that I can’t offer much—in fact, I don’t have anything at all to offer you, but...”

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupts. “I don’t want anything from you. I’ve always just wanted _you_ ”

“Yes, but—” 

“And besides, I do get something out of this. I get an enormous prat who decided to give up life after death for me,” Merlin says gleefully.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin grins at him, his eyes flicking down to Arthur’s lips. “Make me.”

And boy, does Arthur make him.


	6. Life After Death

It’s been almost year now since Arthur chose to remain in the mortal world. A year of getting to know each other all over again, and discovering all the little quirks about the other’s body. It’s certainly been an enjoyable time, but they’ve dealt with their fair share of arguments resulting from Arthur’s frustrations as he tries to adjust to his new reality. As neither a rested soul, not a mortal being, there’s a lot he has to get used to.

Given the circumstances of Arthur’s death, he and Merlin decided to move the business away from London and now operate out of the smaller town of Ealdor, where Merlin’s mother lives. Gwen had been sad to see Merlin go, but she had understood the need for him to relocate. After all, much to everyone’s surprise, Gwen had found love with Lancelot. Arthur had told Merlin that he had found Lancelot at Gwen’s flat quite a few times when he’d gone to visit Gwen, but neither of them had realised that the pair had grown so close so quickly. Arthur doesn’t think that Gwen realised either, until it was too late and she was in love with him. When Merlin had asked about their abrupt change in relationship status, Gwen had explained that Lancelot was her ex. She had dated him before she met Arthur. They had eventually broken up, not because they weren’t compatible or because they were angry at each other, but because Lancelot had felt that he needed to travel and see the world. He’d wanted to help people whilst he studied, and Gwen hadn’t wanted to go with him. So they had ended up parting on agreeable terms and remained friends, though they had drifted over the years and Gwen had wondered then if she would regret not seizing love when it was right there for her.

When Lancelot had returned to the UK as a fully-fledged doctor, ready to take on a residency, he had found out from their mutual friends that Gwen was engaged. Lancelot had been far too noble to look her up and step on any toes. All he ever wanted was for Gwen to be happy, and so he had no reason to ruin that for her.

Then the accident had happened, and they’d reconnected at the hospital. Lancelot had been unable to keep away. He had been determined to be Gwen’s friend and to help support her through this sad time, and if, eventually, she decided that she wanted something more, well, it would all be on her terms. Gwen had had some initial misgivings about it—it had felt so wrong to her to move on from Arthur as quickly as she had—but ultimately true love had won through, and Gwen had given into her old feelings for Lancelot. 

They both realised life was too short to worry about what other people thought of them and their whirlwind romance. Merlin knew that feeling very well, having experienced his own fast-track romance with Arthur. Not long ago, they had had a small but happy wedding. Merlin had met up with them just last week, and to his surprise, Gwen had been sporting a little bump. Merlin had been able to feel the presence of a little boy inside her belly. Merlin had realised then why the wedding had been so sudden. He expects that they will start sharing the good news with people soon, as they won’t be able to keep the baby a secret for too much longer. 

Merlin had been worried how Arthur would take the news. He had been uncharacteristically quiet when Merlin had told him about the wedding, so much so that Merlin had wondered if he’d been having second thoughts about the two of them. But he’d been quite cheerful when it came to the big day, and there was the added bonus that he’d got to dress Merlin in a suit again, something Arthur always took great joy in doing. It brought back all those memories back of when his feelings for Merlin had been resurfacing, not all that many months ago, and Merlin had managed to look even better in his suit at the wedding. But perhaps that was because Arthur knew that he was his and he was free to look and touch and be with Merlin all that he liked, free from the worry that he had moved on from Gwen too quickly, since it seemed as though her path was meant to lie with Lancelot’s all along.

As he carefully marks a chalk circle on the floor, ready for him to copy the runes from one of Gaius’ books, Merlin wonders what he should tell Gwen the next time he sees her. Should he explain to her about Arthur? Or would that be too cruel given that she’s with Lancelot now, and it might hurt her to know that her former fiancé is back? Maybe he should stop reaching out to her, stop arranging lunches and get togethers. If this ritual works the way they’re hoping it will, then it’s only going to become increasingly difficult to hide his new life with Arthur from her. It’s tough enough as it is, having to bite his tongue and not mention what they’ve been up to. Gwen hates it when Merlin slips up and mentions Arthur as though he’s still living. Perhaps it would be kinder to them all if he just lets that friendship fade away. 

He sighs and reaches for the paint. It’s amazing what a difference a year can make in a person’s life.

Since their move to Ealdor, Merlin has taken on Morgana as a partner, as Arthur can hardly represent the agency in his current state. Morgana has been really helpful and has relished having a purpose for her visions and magic, working hard to prove her worth to both Merlin and Arthur. Not that she’d ever admit as much to Arthur’s face, lest he lord it over her, but it is clear that knowing her own mind again has given her a newfound sense of peace.

The new office is not so far away that getting back to London is a chore, but it gives them all room for a fresh start, as few people here know their history. And tonight, if all that they’ve been planning for over the last six months works out, then it will definitely have been the right move. After all, they wouldn’t want people on the street recognising Arthur and remembering that he was supposed to be dead.

Tonight, they both hope that they will be able to change their current status quo and bring Arthur back to regular, normal life, rather than the half-existence he’s been living vicariously through Merlin. Gaius has been working hard with Merlin to get everything in place, helping to prepare them both for all they will need to do for their ritual. They’ve all been busy studying all they can, planning carefully to anticipate every eventuality before they encounter it. And they’ve done the best they can. But the fact of the matter is, nothing quite like this has ever been attempted before. A lot of it is speculation and guesswork on their behalf, but Gaius is convinced Merlin can do it, if not through the magic of the spell, then through sheer force of will. Merlin is quietly confident and excited about the prospect himself.

The room is dark. The curtains have been drawn, and the sun went down several hours ago now. Morgana has been busy placing candles on the table and shelves, as well as on the floor, ready for the ritual, and Merlin has already lit some of them so that they can see as they work. He carefully paints a large circle in runes on the floor with blue paint, the very same paint that Gaius has just finished using to paint Merlin’s chest, back and arms with ancient symbols. Merlin had finished the rest of them off himself, and he will do the same to Arthur when he gets here.

Despite his protestations, Arthur has been banished from the room while the ritual preparations are in progress. Although he has slowly been learning how to affect more things in his environment, it has been a steep learning curve. His ability to touch seems especially apparent when Merlin is around, and Arthur is bolstered in his presence. But even with that progress and the illusion of some independence, he’s still a ghost, and they just can’t risk him dropping a candle or messing things up by accident.

Morgana and Gaius are there, though, helping Merlin to arrange things for the ritual. Morgana is humming softly to herself as she continues lighting the candles. Now that she knows her visions are caused by magic and _not_ mental health issues as she had been lead to believe, she is much happier and calmer. She never did end up going back to the institution. Both Merlin and Arthur wouldn’t even consider it when she asked for their opinions, and they were right. There’s certainly no reason for her to be there anymore. She still goes and stays with Gaius and Alice on the weekends, taking lessons from Gaius on how to control both the visions and the magic, as well as receiving loving care and the mothering she has so desperately missed ever since her own mother had passed away. And even though her dreams are upsetting sometimes and keep her from sleeping, knowing _why_ she has them and how to utilise them means that they are tolerable. She can make them happen now when she wants to, and Gaius has helped her to find ways that make them occur less often, which has been so empowering for her.

“How are you getting on?” Gaius calls to her.

“Almost finished!” she calls back.

“I’ll help you when I’m done lighting the last few,” he offers.

The newly structured Emrys & Pendragon (& Pendragon) office has made quite a stir in the magical community. A detective agency run by two sorcerers and a ghost! It’s proved an interesting experience for everyone. Arthur’s ghostly abilities have been very useful for finding out confidential information and eavesdropping on conversations that weren’t intended for their ears, and Morgana is getting better and better at controlling her dreams each and every day. She often has visions that provide some kind of clue in their investigations, and is a great help to both of them. 

They do still take on regular cases from the general public, though, and occasionally, Merlin even gets a call from DS Godwin requesting his help. But mostly, they’ve developed quite a niche in investigating the occult and almost everyone who goes to them, magical or non-magical, does so because of their reputation and rather quirky methodology.

“Right,” says Gaius, placing the last candle and rubbing at his back as he gets up from his crouch. “I think that’s the last of them.” He comes to look at the rune circle that Merlin has been painting on the floor and hums to himself. “You forgot a word, just _there_ ,” he says, pointing at a part of the circle. 

“No, I didn’t! Did I?” Merlin hurriedly flicks open the book that he had been using as a guide and scans the page anxiously. “No, this looks exactly the same!”

Gaius grins at him, and Morgana smothers a giggle. “I know, my boy. I just wanted you to have a bit more confidence in yourself. You’re doing fine. Your preparation work has been exemplary. We’ve done everything that we can. so just relax and focus on the magic and it will all work out. I have every faith in you, Merlin.” He places a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and squeezes it, an old gesture of comfort, and Merlin heaves a sigh of relief. He trusts Gaius implicitly. If he thinks this plan could actually work, then there is a good chance that it will. 

“You really think so?”

“I know so,” Gaius says sagely. “You just have to believe it too.”

“If I can control my visions, you and Arthur can do this,” says Morgana, adding her vote of confidence.

Gaius looks at his watch. “Hmm, time is ticking. We should let the two of you get started.”

Morgana smiles and gives him a quick hug. “Good luck, Merlin,” she says, and then she and Gaius go leaving Merlin alone.

Finally left to his own devices, Merlin walks around the room, checking over their preparations. He takes the bundle of herbs from the table, and with a look from him, they catch fire and start to smolder. He murmurs a cleansing spell as he walks, diffusing the smoke to ready the room for their ritual. Cleansing done, he takes off his trousers carefully, having opted to leave his shirt off to avoid messing up the runes that Gaius had painstakingly painted on his torso. He feels too hot anyway, and his magic itches and burns under his skin. It takes a lot of effort to hold back those insistent urges he gets each and every Beltane. Somehow it’s easier knowing that he has Arthur now. He wants sex. He _craves_ sex. But he wants it with Arthur and only Arthur, and so he does his best to contain himself. Determined to remain calm, he folds his trousers. There’s a metallic clang as Arthur’s thumb ring falls out of Merlin’s pocket. He’d almost forgotten. He needs to place this inside the circle as a focus for the magic when they perform the ritual. It requires that they use something valuable to the deceased. He slowly picks up the ring and then puts the trousers down on the table, placing them in a neat pile with a level of care and devotion he never normally shows his clothing. He walks over to the circle and places Arthur’s thumb ring within it. Once he’s satisfied, Merlin stands there awkwardly, hoping he won’t get too cold as he waits as patiently as he can for Arthur to arrive. But it’s only a few minutes before he can’t help beginning to pace, his patience wearing thin. He needs to complete this ritual and find some relief, and soon.

Arthur walks straight through the door a few moments later, scanning Merlin’s naked body and giving him a small, pleased grin. Merlin can’t help but blush, lust and magic start fizzing fiercely in his veins, and his cock starts to fill, as though his body knows that soon, soon he will get just what he’s always wanted at Beltane: Arthur. He swallows hard and pushes back against the fevor of desire that threatens to overwhelm him. It’s not time yet. 

“Hey,” he says, straightening his shoulders.

“Hey yourself,” Arthur responds, smirking. It still amazes Merlin how openly Arthur approves of his body now; Arthur shows him as much every single day, even if doesn’t often say it out loud. He says it in the way he smooths his hands over the planes of Merlin’s back; in the way he slides his arm around Merlin’s waist and spoons him when they sleep. It’s in the way he brushes their hands together whenever they stand close enough. 

“Is everything ready?” Arthur asks quietly.

“Pretty much,” replies Merlin. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself against the heady sensation which he can feel building inside him, and strides over to Arthur. “Just need you to take these off.” 

He helps Arthur out of his jacket, folding it up to place on the table next to his own clothing with equal reverence. He unbuttons Arthur’s shirt next. There’s something soothing and _right_ about undressing Arthur like this that goes beyond sex, something that touches Merlin deep in his soul. It seems like sacrilege to desecrate something so intimate with his Beltane urges. And yet, he can’t quite resist the temptation to smooth his hands down Arthur’s back, recalling with a smile how Arthur had done exactly the same to him the night before last. Merlin places a kiss to the side of his neck and slides his arms around Arthur’s waist to undo his trousers, letting them drop as he spoons him from behind, his cock pressing insistently against Arthur’s arse. He’s supposed to be resisting this—the ritual is very precise about things like timing—but he just can’t help himself now that Arthur is finally here and he can touch him. He continues his thorough worship of Arthur’s neck and nuzzles his nose behind Arthur’s ear, listening to the hitches of Arthur’s breath. With a deep sigh of contentment, Merlin tugs Arthur’s underwear down, over his hips and cock, which is starting to react to all the attention, and then takes all the clothes away and returns with the blue body paint.

“Okay, now I need to…” He touches a finger gently to Arthur’s back, turning his head to gauge Arthur’s reaction. Arthur gives him a nod, rolling his shoulders and neck to help himself relax. Merlin concentrates on painting the runes onto Arthur’s skin. He’s practiced these symbols so often, he’s sure he could do this in his sleep. It’s slow and calm and quiet as he works, just the sound of his own breath and the thud of his heart, with Arthur’s body cold, yet warming under his touch as he dabs on the paint with his fingers. His focus helps to cool his ardor somewhat, but his magic still manages to make itself known seeps out of him, setting the runes aglow.

Merlin can feel the way that the air is changing around them, becoming thick with magic; so much so that it’s almost cloying. Gaius and Morgana have been helping him to cast spells on the room all morning to prepare, but the final spell lies in the runes around the circle, which Merlin will activate when they’re ready to start. The circle calls to him, a constant buzzing against his senses, and he wants to start the ritual. But he has to make sure that everything is perfect first. 

He walks around Arthur and begins painting the runes onto his chest. These are the most important, the ones that will guide his magic into Arthur, acting as a conduit. Merlin pushes the magic into the symbols as he paints them, infusing them with power and positive intentions. Next he kneels before Arthur, as though he’s a knight taking an oath to a king. As he looks up, the candle light casts a warm, golden glow over Arthur’s ethereal hair, completing the image in Merlin’s head. Arthur looks down at him, his eyes dark and his cock bobbing in front of Merlin’s face. It’s so tempting. It would be so easy to just forget about this and focus on the two of them. Merlin shakes his head to clear it and turns his attention back to the task in hand. _No. Not yet_. They will have plenty of time for that later. In fact, if everything goes according to plan, they will have the rest of their lives.

Finally finished, with the runes all done, Merlin places the paint on the floor and leads Arthur by the hand over to the circle. They sit down opposite each other, and Merlin reaches out to hold Arthur’s hands.

“Close your eyes, Arthur,” Merlin tells him.

Arthur gives him a dubious look. He’s been cautious about this whole thing for a long time now, and Merlin knows he’s worried that it won’t work.

“Arthur,” sighs Merlin. “Look, we’ve been over this. If it’s going to work, you have to believe.”

“We don’t know that it’s going to work though,” points out Arthur.

Merlin looks over at him and arches his eyebrow, trying his best to look authoritative. “It’s going to work,” he says sternly, but his voice turns soft and tender on him. Arthur often has that effect. “Trust me.”

Arthur smiles nervously, but he gives Merlin a small nod. “I trust you.”

“Okay. So.” Merlin takes a deep breath. “We hold hands...”

“Holding hands.” 

“And then I activate the circle and start the spell,” Merlin continues, ignoring him. ”But just a word of warning—when it starts to work, it’s going to feel...weird.”

“Your magic?”

“Yes,” replies Merlin. “It’s weird if you’re not used to it.”

“Oh,” says Arthur suggestively, raising an eyebrow of his own. “I’m _very_ used to it.”

“Shut up,” says Merlin, his cheeks and ears starting to warm with his embarrassment. “Besides, what happens when we… that will be nothing compared with this. I have to share all my magic with you to make this work. So that you can sever the threads that tie you to the afterworld.”

“I know,” says Arthur, starting to get a little impatient, “and I’m ready. Can we get started now?”

“Fine. Okay. So...”

Merlin closes his eyes and focuses on the words he needs to say, making sure that he remembers the meaning and emotion he has to place behind each one. He takes a deep breath. In and out. In and out. He puts his attention on Arthur and their connection to each other, expanding his senses, searching for the thread that runs from one of them to the other. The one that had connected their souls permanently to each other that day in the graveyard when Arthur chose to stay. 

Soul bonds, they’re called. A very rare, but often spoken about connection, one that was revered by the High Priestesses of the Old Religion. Tales of them have been passed down from generation to generation in the Druid community as part of their oral history. There are a few written accounts of them, but the Druids who know of them believe them to be sacred, something that only those with magic can attain. 

That alone had lead Merlin to believe it wasn’t possible. There was no way that it could have been a soul bond that he and Arthur had experienced, because Arthur has no magic. 

Then Gaius had come to him to confess something he had sworn never to divulge. Ygraine had once been friends with a well-known Druid priestess called Elaine. Merlin has heard of her, but can’t say that he approves. Elaine is now a magical rights activist who actively discriminates against those who are without magical power. The Druids have had to orchestrate numerous cover-ups because of her behaviour, and she now resides in captivity with them, since a normal prison could never hold her. They had been tempted to go and question her, to find out more about the High Priestesses and their rites, but Gaius had strongly advised against it. 

Back before Arthur had been born, his parents had been having trouble conceiving a child. Ygraine had been through several rounds of failed IVF and she had experienced multiple complications with their attempts, including almost bleeding to death after a miscarriage. After that, the doctors had refused to let her try again, but Ygraine had been so desperate for a child, and Uther so set against raising a child that wasn’t his own blood, that when Elaine suggested a fertility ritual to her, they had jumped at the chance. It had been a success. Arthur had been born from that magic, and it seemed that this was enough to give him and Merlin that bond.

There is one part of the ritual that has caused Merlin to flush hot with embarrassment whenever they’ve mentioned it. He hates knowing that, even though they’ll have privacy and they won’t be interrupted, everyone _knows_ exactly what they will be doing. And yes, it’s natural. It’s a part of life, and people do it. But it’s still immensely awkward and more than a little mortifying to know that your uncle and your boyfriend’s sister are waiting not too far away whilst you’re having sex.

Through a series of awkward and mortifying discussions with Gaius, they had come to realise that in order to this to work, Merlin would need to bond in some manner with Arthur’s living body. A part of Arthur’s living essence would need to be given to Merlin.

Never one for beating around the bush, Gaius had taken great glee in reading to them both from a book he had borrowed from a friend on the matter. "In the Wiccan Great Rite, a ritual celebrating creation and birth, the chalice and athame—that is, the dagger—play a central symbolic role. The athame is placed in the chalice to represent sexual intercourse."

They had both frowned at him. "Yeah, but how does that... What does that...?" began Merlin, struggling to formulate the right question. “I don’t understand.”

Gaius had given him a piercing look with his fiercest eyebrow, and then the realisation of what Gaius was implying hit him, and Merlin let his head thunk onto the desk "Fuck my fucking life."

Gauis had smirked at him. "Oh I don't think the experience will be a bad one,” he commented lightly. “In fact, I'd go as far as to say you and Arthur have the relevant experience already."

Merlin had tried to bury his head in his arms. "Gaaaaiuuuuussss!" he protested. 

Arthur had laughed at him from the corner of the room. "I'm so glad I can literally walk through walls right now," he said, shaking his head.

Merlin had glared at him. "Oh no, don't you dare. If I have to suffer then so do you!”

But he was too late. Arthur had stepped right through the wall, giving Merlin a delighted grin and a cheeky wave.

“Arthur?” called Merlin. “Arthur! Oh, come _on_!"

Arthur poked his head back in for a moment and piped, "That's what you said last night."

Stalking towards him, Merlin had gritted his teeth. "Look, do you want to have a body again or not, clotpole!?"

“Merlin!” calls Arthur sarcastically. “Earth to Merlin!” And Merlin startles as he realises he’s let his thoughts wander too far.

“I’m sorry. Where were we? Oh yeah, soulbonds. Remember what you told me about the night at the warehouse? How you talked about finding an invisible thread that you just… _tugged_ on and it lead you to me? That’s our soul bond, and that’s what we need to find again together for this ritual to work. Both of us need to find it and hold on to it. We both need to open our hearts and souls to allow for the transfer of magic between us to bring you back to life. The magic is… complicated. And hard. We’re going to need to focus just on this. Just on us.”

Arthur smiles at Merlin, one corner of his lips quirking up. “Trust me, Merlin. Focusing on us is not going to be a problem.”

Merlin glares at him. “It doesn’t bother you in the slightest, does it? Knowing that all of them out there—” Merlin nods at the door, “—are going to know that we… you know.” It bothers Merlin a great deal more knowing how much he wants it. How right now, if Arthur demanded it, he would spread his legs and let himself be fucked, ritual or no ritual. Normally he’s the one who wants to fuck other people at Beltane, not the other way around, but this time around he only wants Arthur. It probably has something to do with their soulbond, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make him feel a little strange. 

“Fucked?” supplies Arthur. “No, not particularly.” He grins evilly. “I quite relish making Morgana flee from our proximity whenever we start making out. After this, it’ll be even better.”

Merlin can’t help but laugh. “I knew you were doing that on purpose,” he says. They both share a mischievous smiles together until Merlin clears his throat. “Come on, we should do this. We don’t have a whole lot of time, and I might not get things exactly right the first time.”

“You’d better, Merlin. I’m not sure I can get it up multiple times in the space of an hour.”

Merlin rolls his eyes at him. “That’s just one part of the ritual. I might need to repeat the first part if it doesn’t work immediately. We’ve been over this. The sex is to make sure that the transfer of magic is stable and the seal your life to mine. When the time is right, you’ll see the thread to the afterlife. You need to cut that at just the right moment–you’ll know when. And then your life-force will be tied to mine.”

Arthur nods his head, and Merlin sighs with relief. At least Arthur had been paying attention to _that_ part of their discussion. 

It had taken Merlin a long time to talk Arthur into even attempting this ritual. At first, he had argued against it. He had said that he didn’t want Merlin to be forced to join their lives together just so that he could live a normal life. He wanted Merlin to be free to find someone else and not leave them both dependent on each other for the rest of their lives. Merlin had pointed out that they were _already_ bonded to one another. Even if they did choose other people to be with, their bond would always be there, festering, drawing them back together. Bad things happened when people tried to defy soul bonds. They had unwittingly sealed their bond when Arthur chose to stay in the mortal world, so this wouldn’t make much difference. It was just that, by tying their life force together, when Merlin died, Arthur would die with him, as his continued existence would be dependent on Merlin’s magic. If they were successful, that is. Nothing quite like this had ever been attempted. No soul that had passed away had ever been brought back to have a corporeal body and walk in the mortal realm again. But Gaius was confident that Merlin and Arthur could do it together. 

“Close your eyes,” says Merlin as sternly as he can. But he still can’t help giving Arthur a small smile. He’s excited about this. They’ve been waiting and researching and planning for so many months now, waiting until just the right moment, and that moment is tonight. Beltane, a time of fertility, love, and the start of new life. It is also one of the few times of the year when the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest. As near as he and Gaius can figure, this is their best chance of severing Arthur from the magic of the afterlife that binds him there and bringing him back into this world with Merlin. 

They know that the High Priestesses of the Old Religion often performed rituals to celebrate life and to welcome new beginnings that come with spring. Parts of their rituals involved communication with dead loved ones, though these were usually carried out on Samhain, where they would sometimes release the spirits back into this world. This was often strongly warned against, as you could never be sure you weren’t releasing a shade instead, and it was one of the reasons why, Gaius had been reluctant to help them at first. But when he saw how determined Merlin was to try everything he could to bring Arthur back to the mortal realm, he had relented and leant them his knowledge, steering Merlin towards more wholesome paths of research and suggesting that Beltane might be more suited for their purpose. He had given them access to his books and contacts with other sorcerers. He did all this so long as Merlin promised he wouldn’t try anything further before they had discussed it and gone over all the consequences beforehand.

If this adapted ritual of their works—and Merlin is really optimistic that it will, it just feels _right_ —Arthur will be like every other human living on this planet. He’ll be able to touch anything and everything. He’ll have a solid body again, and people without magic will be able to see and talk to him. He’ll be _normal_ again, just like he was before the accident. The prospect is an exciting one for the both of them. Merlin loves Arthur more than life itself, and he knows how frustrating Arthur has found it living as a ghost. Given all Arthur has sacrificed for him, Merlin is willing to do anything it takes to make him mortal again. 

He wants to fix things, to give Arthur back the life that was so cruelly stolen from him and ensure that he won’t be left walking between worlds for the rest of eternity once Merlin has gone. Tying his life to Merlin’s is the most viable solution they’ve been able to come up with.

Merlin focuses on steadying his breathing and clears his thoughts. Once he’s ready, he whispers words in a language that should be long gone and feels a _shift_ in the air around them. Arthur gasps as he feels it, too. Merlin reaches out, concentrating on that shimmering, golden thread that stretches between himself and Arthur. 

“Tell me when you have it, Arthur,” Merlin murmurs, watching the connection glimmering in his mind’s eye. He reaches for it and grasps it tightly, feeling a short, gentle tug.

“I have it,” supplies Arthur.

“Good, then I’ll start the ritual.” 

He can feel Arthur shift a little, telegraphing his uncertainty through their bond. 

Merlin huffs out a frustrated breath and opens his eyes to look at Arthur. The ritual won’t work if he isn’t 100% on board. “Open your mind and be willing to offer yourself to me, like I told you.” Arthur shoots him a suggestive look. Merlin rolls his eyes. If he’d known just how immature Arthur was going to be about this being a sex ritual, he’d have researched further for some other way to do this. But as Gaius had so helpfully pointed out to them, sex is an age-old way of celebrating a bond and a way of sharing magic between two sorcerers. It was often—and still is—used in the Old Religion and amongst the Druid community to lend potency to enchantments and as a kind of magical contract. Given that sex is one of the few things that is almost as old as magic itself, it’s hardly surprising. Merlin decides to ignore Arthur’s smirk and continues. 

“You need to be open to the magic, a conduit to our connection. Are you ready?”

Arthur’s face turns serious and determined. Merlin can feel him starting to relax finally. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Merlin closes his eyes again and readies his magic, summoning it to do his will. Arthur gives his hands an encouraging squeeze and Merlin starts to speak the words of the spell.

“Take this thread that does bind us and join our life forces to make them one. For we belong together. Two halves that make one whole, one that cannot be without the other. I, Merlin, give my magic and my life freely, for what is mine is also his and what is his is also mine. Bind us further, entwine our souls. Two hearts that beat as one. Know that we make this choice freely and ask that the magic of this world grant us this. I call on you, the triple Goddess, to allow this to pass. Sever the bond that holds Arthur to the afterworld. Bring him here and make us one.”

Merlin opens his eyes and looks at Arthur. He can feel the heat and power of his magic burning behind his eyes, looking for a way out. The power radiates out through the rest of his body, making the painted runes glow against his skin.

Arthur gasps and grips Merlin’s hands tightly. “What’s happening?” he asks.

“The ritual,” Merlin breathes, his breath misting magic into the air where it twinkles before fading. Somewhere inside of him, the thing that had been holding back all those feelings of hunger and desperation snaps. He can’t stop himself from leaning forward and pressing his lips to Arthur’s.

Arthur groans and opens his mouth, Merlin’s breath mingling with his. His body starts to tingle and it feels like molten lava is running through his veins as the magic travels through him. It lights up his runes one by one, until he feels on fire with it. Is this how Merlin always feels, with magic burning inside him, desperate to get out? He reaches up his hand and cradles Merlin’s head as a way to ground himself, kissing harder, deeper, drawing Merlin’s tongue into his mouth and swallowing up his moans. When they part for air, Merlin climbs hurriedly into Arthur’s lap and slides his arms around him. Merlin’s hands and arms are like flames against Arthur’s skin, and he’s so turned on that he can’t help himself. He feels as though he’s not entirely in control of his actions as he grasps Merlin by the hips and thrusts against him.

“Oh God, I want you,” he groans against Merlin’s long, lean throat. He nips at the skin there, making Merlin writhe in his lap. “Is this what magic does to you?”

Merlin tilts his head up and back, exposing more of his neck for Arthur to ravish. “Y-yes. Sometimes,” he says, and then he purrs seductively as he starts to wriggle in Arthur’s lap. “ _Especially_ at Beltane.”

Arthur attacks his neck, sucking a bruising kiss into his jugular that makes Merlin keen and gasp in turn. He grips Arthur’s shoulders and grinds down purposefully on Arthur’s cock, his head falling back as he moans. “You don’t know how difficult it’s been waiting all day for your cock.”

“Fuck, you t-tease.” Arthur shudders. “Is this a part of the ritual? Driving me out of my mind with want?”

“Arthur!” Merlin whines. “I—we need. We need to—Gods!” He cries out as Arthur bucks up and his cock slides between Merlin’s cheeks.

Arthur can’t help himself. He pushes Merlin off him and down onto the ground and kisses him again, pressing his own body hard against his. “I need to fuck you,” he growls. “That’s what we need.”

He watches the way Merlin’s throat bobs, mezmerised. “Yes,” Merlin agrees. “And to... we need to cut the thread that—that—” Arthur mouths at Merlin’s neck again as his hand snakes between them and closes around Merlin’s cock. “Oh, _oh_. Yes, yes. More. Except... We need… we need…”

Arthur can’t blame Merlin for not being able to recall what they need to being doing right now, since he can barely remember it himself. He can’t think about anything that isn’t Merlin; long, lithe and pale-skinned, and stretched out beneath him, ready for Arthur to devour.

“Arthur, the—the spell. I need to— Oh, _fuuuck_...” Arthur gives his hand that special flick of the wrist that Merlin loves as he pumps it along Merlin’s cock. He’s helpless to stop doing what they’re doing, feeling drawn to Merlin by a force he doesn’t understand. It feels like he’s a part of something bigger, something beyond him, beyond Merlin, beyond this room and further still. He can feel the way they’re being pulled together by this cord, this bond between them, and he can’t help but wonder whether this is what the magic wants them to do. 

“A-Arthur, we need to f-finish the sp-spell!” Merlin finally manages to say.

Arthur kisses his shoulder and then down his arm. He’s trying to pull away, but he just can’t stop kissing and touching and feeling Merlin. It’s impossible for him to stop. “Then say it,” Arthur demands, exasperated. “Say it and let me have you.”

Merlin nods at him, and with his chest heaving he starts to speak, deep, dark, guttural words which are apparently words of magic. His eyes light up with a burning gold, and the runes on his body that had faded to a dull glow suddenly grow bright again. Arthur stares into his eyes as Merlin chants. He has a vague idea of what Merlin is saying; they had gone over it again and again, so that Arthur would know when he needed to act. He tries to clear the fog of lust that clouds his brain, forcing himself to listen until he finally hears Merlin say that phrase he’s been waiting for. And that’s when he spots it. A fine silver thread that glistens in the candlelight, strung across the room like gossamer.

“I see it,” Arthur whispers to Merlin, who cranes his gorgeous neck to look, driving Arthur to distraction. He’s still painfully aroused.

“You need—you need to break it. Do you remember those words I taught you?”

“I do, but I’m not...Are we ready?”

Merlin pulls him closer. “I will always be ready for you. Are you ready? Because this is going to be…”

“Yes, yes. I’m ready.”

“Then open your mind to me,” whispers Merlin, and kisses him. Arthur gasps and his back bows as a surge of energy travels through the kiss into his body. It starts as a tingle down his spine, and then it builds and builds, until it feels like it’s too much and too full and that there’s no way that his body can contain it. If it doesn’t stop, Arthur is sure that he’s going to explode from it.

“Merlin,” he moans, opening his eyes. He cannot see through the golden haze in front of them, the heat that burns and rolls and threatens to spill out at the slightest jolt. “Merlin, I—I can’t...” 

He feels Merlin’s hand gently touch his face and hears his soft, low voice talking to him. “It’s okay, Arthur. You can do it, I know you can. We rehearsed this.”

“I can’t focus. I can’t—I can’t think.”

“I know,” Arthur hears Merlin’s voice say. “But you can do this. Focus on me. Let me ground you. Let me guide you.”

Arthur grasps blindly at Merlin, and there’s warmth, and smoothness, and then coarse hair as he draws his hands across Merlin’s chest. Merlin hooks his legs around Arthur’s waist, and Arthur’s arms and knees give out on him, pressing them close together. Merlin wraps his arms around his back and slides his hand into Arthur’s hair.

“You know how to do this, Arthur,” he says, peppering the side of his face and neck in kisses. “Just like we rehearsed, okay?”

“Okay,” gulps Arthur. “Ćeorf se þræd hwilc forstenteþ forþgangende.” He says the words as carefully as he can, trying to pronounce them exactly the same way that Merlin had. Merlin smiles at him, giving him an encouraging nod, and he continues, “ālīes mē, ic wille befēgan þæt weoroldlīf.”

Arthur feels the magic flow through his entire body, pouring from him as if a dam has burst. It takes his breath away, and there’s a sharp pain in his chest. He feels like he’s everywhere and nowhere all at once, until he feels Merlin; his magic, his touch, his heart beating rapidly against Arthur’s chest.

“Arthur? Arthur? Stay with me,” Merlin calls. Arthur reaches out, and finally, finally he can feel the flow of magic start to slow. He opens his eyes and Merlin is there, staring up at him, cradling his face in his hands. “Arthur…” he breathes. “Okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Arthur stutters. “I’m okay.”

Merlin presses a kiss to his lips. “Good.” He rolls Arthur over, straddling him as he runs his fingers down Arthur’s chest in a gentle, careful motion. He whispers a word Arthur is familiar with, “Forbærne yfel,” and the candles encircling them all burst into flame. Merlin’s hand lingers over the left side of Arthur’s chest, and his breath is erratic, shuddering. “Your heart. I can feel it…” He laughs joyously. “You’re alive, Arthur! You’re alive!” 

Merlin grins at him through glistening eyes, and Arthur brings his own hand to his chest, clutching at it, to feel for himself the familiar comforting _thud, thud_ that has been missing for so many months. And he realises that he’s breathing, actual, real breaths again, his lungs filling with air.

“We did it,” he says, a little dazed.

He pulls himself up to hold Merlin close, where he can feel his own chest rising and falling, pressing against Merlin’s, further assuring them both that the spell has actually worked. He’s flesh and blood again. He feels something else, too: the way Merlin’s cock is pressing hard and insistent against his stomach. They stare at each other for a moment longer, both taking their time drinking the other in, until Merlin pounces on him. He kisses and kisses Arthur, like they’ve never kissed before and never will again. It’s deep and passionate and desperate, and Arthur never wants it to end. There’s a feral madness to it, and when he finally pulls away, they’re both gasping, desperate for breath before they’re back at it again. This time Arthur takes the lead, biting at Merlin’s lip and licking into his mouth in his own frenzy. He wants to kiss Merlin forever. 

It’s Merlin who finally disengages again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he pants. And Arthur knows how he feels. “We should… we need to…” Merlin gestures between them, and Arthur glances down to where his abs are glistening with Merlin’s pre-release.

He swallows hard and licks his lips. “Yes.”

“To help seal the spell,” says Merlin with a wry grin.

Arthur smiles as he kisses him. “If you want me, Merlin, just ask.”

“Prat,” Merlin retorts, and Arthur takes the chance to push him onto his back and hover above him. The light from the candles above Merlin’s head and the runes on his body make him look like some kind of mythical elven creature, not the best friend that Arthur fell in love with. He slides his hands under Merlin’s knees, pushing his legs up and back as he shifts forwards. “Do we have any…?”

Merlin flushes beneath him and murmurs, “Don’t need any.”

Arthur runs a hand down to those sharp hips that he loves so much, and as he continues between Merlin’s thighs, Merlin tilts his hips in welcome. Arthur makes his way behind Merlin’s balls and along his taint until he finds Merlin’s hole. His finger sinks in easily, and Merlin lets out a low moan as he parts his legs.

“My, my, Merlin. Already prepared? You’re eager.”

Merlin smirks at him adorably. “I was a Boy Scout. Besides, it’s not as if we didn’t know this was coming.”

“Good point.”

Arthur pushes a second digit in to make sure that Merlin is definitely ready for him, and Merlin lets out a long, drawn-out moan. “Come on, Arthur.”

Satisfied, Arthur removes his fingers and Merlin gives him a look that’s a cross between a grimace and a pout of disappointment. Arthur lines up his cock, pressing Merlin’s legs back against his chest before he slowly nudges his way inside. Slowly moving deeper and deeper, into very core of him, Arthur keeps going a little more, a little bit more... until he’s completely flush against Merlin’s body.

“A-ah— _Gods_ ,” groans Merlin, throwing his head back and covering his face with his arm. He pants, breathless, his mouth open. 

“Okay?” asks Arthur, anxious that he’s somehow been too rough. He waits impatiently for Merlin’s reply, eager to start fucking him in earnest.

“Yes, yes. I’m—I’m good, I—yeah,” says Merlin, removing his arm and smiling, clearly a bit dazed, before he grins slyly. “What are you waiting for? I need you to fuck me.” He hooks his legs around Arthur’s hips and crosses his ankles on his back, as if to make his point. A little, “Ah!” is wrung from his lips as Arthur growls and gives a short, sharp thrust and it delights him no end, so Arthur does it again and again, going hard and deep with every roll of his hips.

“Uh, _uh_ ,” utters Merlin with every lunge of Arthur’s cock, his head falling back to expose the length of his beautiful, _sinful_ neck. His head is so far back that Arthur can only see the tip of his chin as Merlin clutches his shoulders and calls out, “Yeah, yeah. That’s it. That’s _good_...”

Merlin is a bit of a talker when he’s on the receiving end. Arthur bends his head, unable to resist the urge to suck kisses into that smooth skin, and Merlin voices his appreciation in breathless moans and gasps. Arthur kisses up Merlin’s neck as he builds up a steady rhythm, burying his cock in Merlin’s heat, and pushing Merlin in small increments along the floor. He mouths along Merlin’s jaw, still smooth from his shave a few hours ago, all the way to his ear, then he captures it with his lips and the combination of his licking, biting and sucking makes Merlin shiver and scrabble his hands down Arthur’s back, scraping with his nails.

“A—Arthur, _s-shit_...”

Arthur knows what he means. He has to pull away from Merlin’s adorable, sensitive ears, because seeing Merlin like this, half mad with lust and desperation, makes him need to come too, and he wants this to last just a little bit longer. He shifts positions so that he’s kneeling between Merlin’s legs, pulling Merlin onto his cock and looking down to admire the place where they are so perfectly connected. As Merlin’s cock bobs against his stomach, the head shiny and red, his mouth opens to emit small whines and cries. Arthur smiles. He loves how vocal Merlin is. How he gives it his all. He has never been with another guy, not like this, but he’s heard talk about loud and bossy bottoms, and Merlin is certainly both. He knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to tell Arthur so. It’s a stark contrast to what he’s had in relationships before, but he’s not sure how he could have expected anything less. Merlin has always fought him, challenged him, and wanted the best from him. Why would he be any different when it came to sex?

“Uh, _uh_ , yes. Faster. Go faster!” Merlin demands, and so Arthur picks up the pace. He’s not sure he will last much longer. His chest is heaving, glistening with sweat, and his heart is beating faster with the exertion. Already, he can feel that tingling, tantalizing build-up of tension in his groin.

Arthur hooks his hands under Merlin’s leg and pulls him further into his thrusts, and Merlin just moans, deliciously low and deep. The sound thrums through Arthur’s soul. “Oh God, yeah, yeah. Fuck, ngggh, _Arthur_!”

“Yes, yes, Merlin. I’m so close,” Arthur pants as he loses his grip on reality, knowing he’s on the brink of orgasm. He blindly reaches for Merlin’s cock, batting away Merlin’s hand which has beaten him to it. “I think I’m going to…”

Merlin nods, and his voice goes deeper still, resonating with power as he chants something Arthur knows he should understand, but he’s so far gone, so desperate to come he can’t think of anything else. The magic fizzes and buzzes over his skin like champagne does over his tongue, and he can feel the echoes of Merlin’s power humming through his veins. It’s warm and comforting now, not overwhelming to the point of painful. As Merlin booms the last word of the spell, a wave of magic rips through Arthur, pushing him over the edge and wringing his orgasm from him unexpectedly. Arthur’s jaw goes slack and his hips still as he pulses inside Merlin, buried deep. He groans through the fog of orgasm when he realises that Merlin has come too, hot and wet over his hand. Finally spent, Arthur slumps forward and mouths quite helplessly at Merlin’s neck. He can feel the faint tickle of _something_ at his own throat, reaching up to scratch it just as Merlin lets out an exclamation and does the same.

“Did you—did you just scratch your neck?” Merlin asks with confusion. 

“Hmm?” Arthur replies, still lost in the afterglow of sex.

Merlin scrapes his fingers down his chest, hard enough to smudge the paint and leave angry red marks in their wake. His eyes widen as Arthur winces, and they both stare at his chest, now displaying identical red marks in exactly the same position.

“Oh, no! That wasn’t supposed to happen!” wails Merlin.

“Merlin,” says Arthur, smiling at him. “I’m back, aren’t I? I’m _alive_ again. So what if there might be a teeny little side effect? I’m still here. We’re still together. That hasn’t changed. In fact…” He leans forward and skillfully captures Merlin’s mouth, and they both groan into the kiss, the sensations they’re both feeling amplified by the spell. Arthur manages to tear himself away and presses his forehead to Merlin’s as he laughs, his hands running over the lean, flat planes of Merlin’s beautiful body as he says, “I think we could have a _lot_ of fun with this…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Courtesy of schweet_heart, the translation for the spell is as follows: "ċeorf se þræd hwilc forstenteþ forþgangende" (cut the thread which/that stands in the way of/stops going forth/proceeding), and "ālīes mē, ic wille befēgan þæt weoroldlīf" (release me, I wish to join life in this world/this worldly life).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art: Emrys and Pendragon (Deceased)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234922) by [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72)




End file.
